IB 


THE  LIBRARY- 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


HOUSE    IN    DAISY    LANE. 


THE  WOKKS 


CHARLOTTE  BRONTE. 


[CUEEEE  BELL.] 


(flfosftatal 


in 


THE  PEOFESSOE,  ETG, 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PORTER    &    COATES. 


annex 

5015536 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  PROFESSOR, 9 


EMMA.    A  FRAGMENT  OP  A  STORY.    WITH  INTRODUCTION  BY  W. 
M.  THACKERAY, 239 


POEMS. 

PILATE'S  WIFE'S  DREAM, 263 

MEMENTOS, 267 

THE  WIFE'S  WILL, 274 

THE  WOOD, 276 

FRANCES, 281 

GILBERT, 287 

LIFE, 299 

THE  LETTER, 300 

REGRET, • 302 

PRESENTIMENT, 303 

THE  TEACHER'S  MONOLOGUE, .    .    .  305 

PASSION, 308 

PREFERENCE, 310 

EVENING  SOLACE, 312 

STANZAS, 313 

WATCHING  AND  WISHING, 314 


iv  CONTENTS. 

POEMS. 

PAGE 

WHEN  THOTT  SLEEPEST, 315 

PARTING, 317 

APOSTASY, 318 

WINTER  STORES, 320 

THE  MISSIONARY, 322 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 
VIEW  FROM  CRIMSWORTH  HALL, Frontispiece. 

HOUSE  IN  DAISY  LANE, Vignette  title. 

RUE  R.OYALE,  BRUSSELS, .      To  face  page  55. 

PROTESTANT  CEMETERY,      "          149. 


THE   PROFESSOR. 


PREFACE. 


THIS  little  book  was  written  before  either  "Jane Eyre"  or 
"  Shirley,"  and  yet  no  indulgence  can  be  solicited  for  it  on  the 
plea  of  a  first  attempt.  A  first  attempt  it  certainly  was  not,  as 
the  pen  which  wrote  it  had  been  previously  worn  a  good  deal 
in  a  practice  of  some  years.  I  had  not  indeed  published  any- 
thing before  I  commenced  "  The  Professor,"  but  in  many  a 
crude  effort,  destroyed  almost  as  soon  as  composed,  I  had  got 
over  any  such  taste  as  I  might  once  have  had  for  ornamented 
and  redundant  composition,  and  come  to  prefer  what  was  plain 
and  homely.  At  the  same  time  I  had  adopted  a  set  of  prin- 
ciples on  the  subject  of  incident,  &c.,  such  as  would  be  gene- 
rally approved  in  theory,  but  the  result  of  which,  when  carried 
out  into  practice,  often  procures  for  an  author  more  surprise 
than  pleasure. 

I  said  to  myself  that  my  hero  should  work  his  way  through 
life  as  I  had  seen  real  living  men  work  theirs  ;  that  he  should 
never  get  a  shilling  he  had  not  earned ;  that  no  sudden  turns 
should  lift  him  in  a  moment  to  wealth  and  high  station ;  that 
whatever  small  competency  he  might  gain,  should  be  won  by 
the  sweat  of  his  brow  ;  that  before  he  could  find  so  much  as  an 
arbor  to  sit  down  in,  he  should  master  at  least  half  the  ascent 
of  the  "  Hill  of  Difficulty ;"  that  he  should  not  even  marry  a 
beautiful  girl  or  a  lady  of  rank.  As  Adam's  son,  he  should 
share  Adam's  doom,  and  drain  throughout  life  a  mixed  and 
moderate  cup  of  enjoyment. 


Vm  PREFACE. 

In  the  eequel,  however,  I  find  that  publishers  in  general 
scarcely  approved  of  this  system,  but  would  have  liked  some- 
thing more  imaginative  and  poetical — something  more  conso- 
nant with  a  highly-wrought  fancy,  with  a  taste  for  pathos,  with 
sentiments  more  tender,  elevated,  unworldly.  Indeed,  until  an 
author  has  tried  to  dispose  of  a  manuscript  of  this  kind,  he  can 
never  know  what  stores  of  romance  and  sensibility  lie  hidden  in 
breasts  he  would  not  have  suspected  of  casketing  such  treas- 
ures. Men  in  business  are  usually  thought  to  prefer  the  real ; 
on  trial,  the  idea  will  be  often  found  fallacious.  A  passionate 
preference  for  the  wild,  wonderful,  and  thrilling — the  strange, 
startling,  and  harrowing — agitates  divers  souls  that  show  a 
calm  and  sober  surface. 

Such  being  the  case,  the  reader  will  comprehend  that  to  have 
reached  him  in  the  form  of  a  printed  book,  this  brief  narrative 
must  have  gone  through  some  struggles,  which  indeed  it  has. 
And  after  all,  its  worst  struggle  and  strongest  ordeal  is  yet  to 
come ;  but  it  takes  comfort,  subdues  fear,  leans  on  the  staff  of  a 
moderate  expectation,  and  mutters  under  its  breath,  while  lift- 
ing its  eye  to  that  of  the  public, — 

"  He  that  is  low  need  fear  no  fall." 

CURRER  BELL. 

The  foregoing  preface  was  written  by  my  wife  with  a  view  to 
the  publication  of  "  The  Professor,"  shortly  after  the  appear- 
ance of  "Shirley."  Being  dissuaded  from  her  intention,  the 
authoress  made  some  use  of  the  materials  in  a  subsequent  work, 
"  Villette."  As,  however,  these  two  stories  are  in  most  respects 
unlike,  it  has  been  represented  to  me  that  I  ought  not  to 
withhold  the  "Professor"  from  the  public.  I  have  therefore 
consented  to  its  publication. 

A.  B.  NICHOLLS. 

HA  WORTH  PARSONAGE, 

September  22,  1856. 


THE  PROFESSOR. 


CHAPTER   I. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

fFlHE  other  day,  in  looking  over  my  papers,  I  found  in  my 
_1_    desk  the  following  copy  of  a  letter,  sent  by  me  a  year 
since  to  an  old  school  acquaintance : — 

"DEAR  CHARLES: — 

"  I  think  when  you  and  I  were  at  Eton  together  we  were 
neither  of  us  what  could  be  called  popular  characters.  You 
were  a  sarcastic,  observant,  shrewd,  cold-blooded  creature;  my 
own  portrait  I  will  not  attempt  to  draw,  but  I  cannot  recollect 
that  it  was  a  strikingly  attractive  one — can  you  ?  What  ani- 
mal magnetism  drew  thee  and  me  together  I  know  not ;  cer- 
tainly I  never  experienced  anything  of  the  Pylades  and  Orestes 
sentiment  for  you,  and  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  you,  on 
your  part,  were  eq-ually  free  from  all  romantic  regard  to  me. 
Still,  out  of  school-hours  we  walked  and  talked  continually  to- 
gether ;  when  the  theme  of  conversation  was  our  companions  or 
our  masters  we  understood  each  other,  and  when  I  recurred  to 
some  sentiment  of  affection,  some  vague  love  of  an  excellent  or 
beautiful  object,  whether  in  animate  or  inanimate  nature,  your 
sardonic  coldness  did  not  move  me.  I  felt  myself  superior  to 
that  check  then  as  I  do  now. 

"  It  is  a  long  time  since  I  wrote  to  you,  and  a  still  longer 
time  since  I  saw  you.  Chancing  to  take  up  a  newspaper  of 

(9) 


10  THE  PROFESSOR. 

your  county  the  other  day,  my  eye  fell  upon  your  name.  I 
began  to  think  of  old  times ;  to  run  over  the  events  which  have 
transpired  since  we  separated ;  and  I  sat  down  and  commenced 
this  letter.  What  you  have  been  doing  I  know  not;  but  you 
shall  hear,  if  you  choose  to  listen,  how  the  world  has  wagged 
with  me. 

"  First,  after  leaving  Eton,  I  had  an  interview  with  my  ma- 
ternal uncles,  Lord  Tynedale  and  the  Hon.  John  Seacombe. 
They  asked  me  if  I  would  enter  the  Church,  and  my  uncle  the 
nobleman  offered  me  the  living  of  Seacombe,  which  is  in  his 
gift,  if  I  would ;  then  my  other  uncle,  Mr.  Seacombe,  hinted  that 
when  I  became  rector  of  Seacombe-cum-Scaife,  I  might  per- 
haps be  allowed  to  take,  as  mistress  of  my  house  and  head  of 
my  parish,  one  of  my  six  cousins,  his  daughters,  all  of  whom  I 
greatly  dislike. 

"  I  declined  both  the  Church  and  matrimony.  A  good  cler- 
gyman is  a  good  thing,  but  I  should  have  made  a  very  bad  one. 
As  to  the  wife — oh,  how  like  a  nightmare  is  the  thought  of 
being  bound  for  life  to  one  of  my  cousins !  No  doubt  they  are 
accomplished  and  pretty ;  but  not  an  accomplishment,  not  a 
charm  of  theirs,  touches  a  chord  in  my  bosom.  To  think  of 
passing  the  winter  evenings  by  the  parlor  fireside  of  Sea- 
combe Rectory,  alone  with  one  of  them — for  instance,  the  large 
and  well-modelled  statue,  Sarah — no ;  I  should  be  a  bad  hus- 
band, under  such  circumstances,  as  well  as  a  bad  clergyman. 

"  When  I  had  declined  my  uncles'  offers,  they  asked  me  '  what 
I  intended  to  do  ?'  I  said  I  should  reflect.  They  reminded  me 
that  I  had  no  fortune,  and  no  expectation  of  any,  and,  after  a 
considerable  pause,  Lord  Tynedale  demanded  sternly, '  Whether 
I  had  thoughts  of  following  my  father's  steps  and  engaging  in 
trade  ?'  Now,  I  had  had  no  thoughts  of  the  sort.  I  do  not 
think  that  my  turn  of  mind  qualifies  me  to  make  a  good  trades- 
man ;  my  taste,  my  ambition  does  not  lie  in  that  way ;  but  such 
was  the  scorn  expressed  in  Lord  Tynedale's  countenance  as  he 
pronounced  the  word  trade — such  the  contemptuous  sarcasm  of 
his  tone — that  I  was  instantly  decided.  My  father  was  but  a 
name  to  me,  yet  that  name  I  did  not  like  to  hear  mentioned 
with  a  sneer  to  my  very  face.  I  answered  then,  with  haste  and 
warmth, '  I  cannot  do  better  than  follow  in  my  father's  steps ; 


THE  PROFESSOR.  11 

yes,  I  will  be  a  tradesman.'  My  uncles  did  not  remonstrate ; 
they  and  I  parted  with  mutual  disgust.  In  reviewing  this 
transaction,  I  find  that  I  was  quite  right  to  shake  off  the  burden 
of  Tynedale's  patronage,  but  a  fool  to  offer  my  shoulders  in- 
stantly for  the  reception  of  another  burden — one  which  might 
be  more  intolerable,  and  which  certainly  was  yet  untried. 

"  I  wrote  instantly  to  Edward — you  know  Edward — my  only 
brother,  ten  years  my  senior,  married  to  a  rich  mill-owner's 
daughter,  and  now  possessor  of  the  mill  and  business  which 
was  my  father's  before  he  failed.  You  are1  aware  that  my 
father — once  reckoned  a  Croesus  of  wealth — became  bankrupt  a 
short  time  previous  to  his  death,  and  that  my  mother  lived  in 
destitution  for  some  six  months  after  him,  unhelped  by  her 
aristocratical  brothers,  whom  she  had  mortally  offended  by  her 

union  with  Crimsworth,  the  shire  manufacturer.  At  the 

end  of  the  six  months  she  brought  me  into  the  world,  and  then 
herself  left  it  without,  I  should  think,  much  regret,  as  it  con- 
tained little  hope  or  comfort  for  her. 

"  My  father's  relations  took  charge  of  Edward,  as  they  did  of 
me,  till  I  was  nine  years  old.  At  that  period  it  chanced  that 
the  representation  of  an  important  borough  in  our  county  fell 
vacant ;  Mr.  Seacombe  stood  for  it.  My  uncle  Crimsworth,  an 
astute  mercantile  man,  took  the  opportunity  of  writing  a  fierce 
letter  to  the  candidate,  stating  that  if  he  and  Lord  Tynedale 
did  not  consent  to  do  something  towards  the  support  of  their 
sister's  orphan  child,  he  would  expose  their  relentless  and 
malignant  conduct  towards  that  sister,  and  do  his  best  to  turn 
the  circumstances  against  Mr.  Seacombe's  election.  That  gen- 
tleman and  Lord  T.  knew  well  enough  that  the  Crimsworths 
were  an  unscrupulous  and  determined  race ;  they  knew  also  that 

they  had  influence  in  the  borough  of  X ;  and,  making  a 

virtue  of  necessity,  they  consented  to  defray  the  expenses  of  my 
education.  I  was  sent  to  Eton,  where  I  remained  ten  years, 
during  which  space  of  time  Edward  and  I  never  met.  He, 
when  he  grew  up,  entered  into  trade,  and  pursued  his  calling 
with  such  diligence,  ability  and  success,  that  now,  in  his 
thirtieth  year,  he  was  fast  making  a  fortune.  Of  this  I  was 
apprised  by  the  occasional  short  letters  I  received  from  him, 
some  three  or  four  times  a  year ;  which  said  letters  never  con- 


12  THE  PROFESSOR. 

eluded  without  some  expression  of  determined  enmity  against 
the  house  of  Seacombe,  and  some  reproach  to  me  for  living,  as 
he  said,  on  the  bounty  of  that  house.  At  first,  while  still  in 
boyhood,  I  could  not  understand  why,  as  I  had  no  parents,  I 
should  not  be  indebted  to  my  uncles  Tynedale  and  Seacombe 
for  my  education ;  but  as  I  grew  up  and  heard  by  degrees  of 
the  persevering  hostility,  the  hatred  till  death,  evinced  by  them 
against  my  father — of  the  sufferings  of  my  mother — of  all  the 
wrongs,  in  short,  of  our  house — then  did  I  conceive  shame  of 
the  dependence  in  which  I  lived,  and  form  a  resolution  no  more 
to  take  bread  from  hands  which  had  refused  to  minister  to  the 
necessities  of  my  dying  mother.  Itnvas  by  these  feelings  I  was 
influenced  when  I  refused  the  Rectory  of  Seacombe,  and  the 
union  with  one  of  my  patrician  cousins. 

"  An  irreparable  breach  thus  being  effected  between  my 
uncles  and  myself,  I  wrote  to  Edward ;  told  him  what  had  oc- 
curred, and  informed  him  of  my  intention  to  follow  his  steps 
and  be  a  tradesman.  I  asked,  moreover,  if  he  could  give  me 
employment.  His  answer  expressed  no  approbation  of  my  con- 
duct, but  he  said  I  might  come  down  to shire,  if  I  liked, 

and  he  would  '  see  what  could  be  done  in  the  way  of  furnishing 
me  with  work.'  I  repressed  all,  even  mental,  comment  on  his 
note,  packed  my  trunk  and  carpet-bag,  and  started  for  the 
North  directly. 

"  After  two  days'  travelling  (railroads  were  not  then  in  exist- 
ence), I  arrived,  one  wet  October  afternoon,  in  the  town  of 

X .  I  had  always  understood  that  Edward  lived  in  this 

town,  but  on  inquiry  I  found  that  it  was  only  Mr.  Crimsworth's 
mill  and  warehouse,  which  were  situated  in  the  smoky  atmos- 
phere of  Bigben  Close ;  his  residence  lay  four  miles  out,  in  the 
country. 

"  It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  I  alighted  at  the  gates  of 
the  habitation  designated  to  me  as  my  brother's.  As  I  ad- 
vanced up  the  avenue,  I  could  see  through  the  shades  of 
twilight,  and  the  dark  gloomy  mists  which  deepened  those 
shades,  that  the  house  was  large,  and  the  grounds  surrounding 
it  sufficiently  spacious.  I  paused  a  moment  on  the  lawn  in 
front,  and  leaning  back  against  a  tall  tree  which  rose  in  the 
centre,  I  gazed  with  interest  on  the  exterior  of  Crimsworth  Hall. 


THE  PROFESSOR.  13 

" '  Edward  is  rich,'  thought  I  to  myself.  *  I  believed  him  to 
be  doing  well — but  I  did  not  know  he  was  master  of  a  mansion 
like  this.'  Cutting  short  all  marvelling,  speculation,  conjec- 
ture, &c.,  I  advanced  to  the  front  door  and  rang.  A  man-ser- 
vant opened  it — I  announced  myself — he  relieved  me  of  my 
wet  cloak  and  carpet-bag,  and  ushered  me  into  a  room  furnished 
as  a  library,  where  there  was  a  bright  fire  and  candles  burning 
on  the  table ;  he  informed  me  that  his  master  was  not  yet  re- 
turned from  X market,  but  that  he  would  certainly  be 

home  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour. 

"  Being  left  to  myself,  I  took  the  stuffed  easy-chair,  covered 
with  red  morocco,  which  stood  by  the  fireside,  and  while  my 
eyes  watched  the  flames  dart  from  the  glowing  coals,  and  the 
cinders  fall  at  intervals  on  the  hearth,  my  mind  busied  itself  in 
conjectures  concerning  the  meeting  about  to  take  place.  Amidst 
much  that  was  doubtful  in  the  subject  of  these  conjectures,  there 
was  one  thing  tolerably  certain — I  was  in  no  danger  of  encoun- 
tering severe  disappointment ;  from  this,  the  moderation  of  my 
expectations  guaranteed  me.  I  anticipated  no  overflowings  of 
fraternal  tenderness ;  Edward's  letters  had  always  been  such  as 
to  prevent  the  engendering  or  harboring  of  delusions  of  this 
sort.  Still,  as  I  sat  awaiting  his  arrival,  I  felt  eager — very 
eager — I  cannot  tell  you  why ;  my  hand,  so  utterly  a  stranger 
to  the  grasp  of  a  kindred  hand,  clenched  itself  to  repress  the 
tremor  with  which  impatience  would  fain  have  shaken  it. 

"  I  thought  of  my  uncles  ;  and  as  I  was  engaged  in  wonder- 
ing whether  Edward's  indifference  would  equal  the  cold  disdain 
I  had  always  experienced  from  them,  I  heard  the  avenue  gates 
open :  wheels  approached  the  house ;  Mr.  Crimsworth  was 
arrived;  and  after  the  lapse  of  some  minutes,  and  a  brief 
dialogue  between  himself  and  his  servant  in  the  hall,  his  tread 
drew  near  the  library  door — that  tread  alone  announced  the 
master  of  the  house. 

"  I  still  retained  some  confused  recollection  of  Edward  as  he 
was  ten  years  ago — a  tall,  wiry,  raw  youth ;  now,  as  I  rose  from 
my  seat  and  turned  towards  the  library  door,  I  saw  a  fine-look- 
ing and  powerful  man,  light-complexioned,  well-made,  and  of 
athletic  proportions ;  the  first  glance  made  me  aware  of  an 
air  of  promptitude  and  sharpness,  shown  as  well  in  his  move- 


14  TEE  PROFESSOR. 

ment  as  in  his  port,  his  eye,  and  the  general  expression  of 
his  face.  He  greeted  me  with  brevity,  and,  in  the  moment  of 
shaking  hands,  scanned  me  from  head  to  foot ;  he  took  his 
seat  in  the  morocco-covered  arm-chair,  and  motioned  me  to 
1  another  seat. 

" '  I  expected  you  would  have  called  at  the  counting-house  in 
the  Close,'  said  he ;  and  his  voice,  I  noticed,  had  an  abrupt 
accent,  probably  habitual  to  him;  he  spoke  also  with  a  guttural 
northern  tone,  which  sounded  harsh  in  my  ears,  accustomed  to 
the  silvery  utterance  of  the  South. 

" '  The  landlord  of  the  inn  where  the  coach  stopped  directed 
me  here,'  said  I.  '  I  doubted  at  first  the  accuracy  of  his  infor- 
mation, not  being  aware  that  you  had  such  a  residence  as  this.' 

" '  Oh,  it  is  all  right !'  he  replied,  '  only  I  was  kept  half  an 
hour  behind  time,  waiting  for  you — that  is  all.  I  thought  you 
must  be  coming  by  the  eight-o'clock  coach.' 

"  I  expressed  regret  that  he  had  had  to  wait ;  he  made  no 
answer,  but  stirred  the  fire,  as  if  to  cover  a  movement  of  impa- 
tience ;  then  he  scanned  me  again. 

"  I  felt  an  inward  satisfaction  that  I  had  not,  in  the  first  mo- 
ment of  meeting,  betrayed  any  warmth,  any  enthusiasm ;  that  I 
had  saluted  this  man  with  a  quiet  and  steady  phlegm. 

" '  Have  you  quite  broken  with  Tynedale  and  Seacombe  ?'  he 
asked,  hastily. 

" '  I  do  not  think  I  shall  have  any  further  communication 
with  them ;  my  refusal  of  their  proposals  will,  I  fancy,  operate 
as  a  barrier  against  all  future  intercourse.' 

" '  Why,'  said  he,  '  I  may  as  well  remind  you,  at  the  very 
outset  of  our  connection,  that  "no  man  can  serve  two  masters." 
Acquaintance  with  Lord  Tynedale  will  be  incompatible  with 
assistance  from  me.'  There  was  a  kind  of  gratuitous  menace  in 
his  eye  as  he  looked  at  me  in  finishing  this  observation. 

"  Feeling  no  disposition  to  reply  to  him,  I  contented  myself 
with  an  inward  speculation  on  the  differences  which  exist  in  the 
constitution  of  men's  minds.  I  do  not  know  what  inference  Mr. 
Crimsworth  drew  from  my  silence — whether  he  considered  it  a 
symptom  of  contumacity,  or  an  evidence  of  my  being  cowed  by 
his  peremptory  manner.  After  a  long  and  hard  stare  at  me,  he 
rose  sharply  from  his  seat. 


THE  PROFESSOR.  15 

"• '  To-morrow,'  said  he,  '  I  shall  call  your  attention  to  some 
other  points ;  but  now  it  is  supper-time,  and  Mrs.  Crimsworth  is 
probably  waiting :  will  you  come  ?' 

"  He  strode  from  the  room,  and  I  followed.  In  crossing  the 
hall,  I  wondered  what  Mrs.  Crimsworth  might  be.  '  Is  she,' 
thought  I,  '  as  alien  to  what  I  like  as  Tynedale,  Seacombe,  the 
Misses  Seacombe — as  the  affectionate  relative  now  striding  before 
me  ?  or  is  she  better  than  these  ?  Shall  I,  in  conversing  with 
her,  feel  free  to  show  something  of  my  real  nature ;  or  — 
Further  conjectures  were  arrested  by  my  entrance  into  the 
dining-room. 

"  A  lamp,  burning  under  a  shade  of  ground-glass,  showed  a 
handsome  apartment,  wainscoted  with  oak ;  supper  was  laid  on 
the  table ;  by  the  fireplace,  standing  as  if  waiting  our  entrance, 
appeared  a  lady ;  she  was  young,  tall,  and  well  shaped ;  her 
dress  was  handsome  and  fashionable :  so  much  my  first  glance 
sufficed  to  ascertain.  A  gay  salutation  passed  between  her  and 
Mr.  Crimsworth  ;  she  chid  him  half  playfully,  half  poutingly,  for 
being  late ;  her  voice  (I  always  take  voices  into  the  account  in 
judging  of  character)  was  lively — it  indicated,  I  thought,  good 
animal  spirits.  Mr.  Crimsworth  soon  checked  her  animated 
scolding  with  a  kiss — a  kiss  that  still  told  of  the  bridegroom 
(they  had  not  yet  been  married  a  year) ;  she  took  her  seat  at  the 
supper-table  in  first-rate  spirits.  Perceiving  me,  she  begged  my 
pardon  for  not  noticing  me  before,  and  then  shook  hands  with 
me,  as  ladies  do  when  a  flow  of  good-humor  disposes  them  to  be 
cheerful  to  all,  even  the  most  indifferent  of  their  acquaintance. 
It  was  now  further  obvious  to  me  that  she  had  a  good  complex- 
ion, and  features  sufficiently  marked  but  agreeable ;  her  hair 
was  red — quite  red.  She  and  Edward  talked  much,  always  in  a 
vein  of  playful  contention  ;  she  was  vexed,  or  pretended  to  be 
vexed,  that  he  had  that  day  driven  a  vicious  horse  in  the  gig, 
and  he  made  light  of  her  fears.  Sometimes  she  appealed  to  me. 

" '  Now,  Mr.  William,  isn't  it  absurd  in  Edward  to  talk  so  ? 
He  says  he  will  drive  Jack,  and  no  other  horse,  and  the  brute 
has  thrown  him  twice  already.' 

"  She  spoke  with  a  kind  of  lisp,  not  disagreeable,  but  childish. 
I  soon  saw,  also,  that  there  was  more  than  girlish — a  somewhat 
infantine  expression  in  her  by  no  means  small  features ;  this 


16  THE  PROFESSOR. 

lisp  and  expression  were,  I  have  no  doubt,  a  charm  in  Edward's 
eyes,  and  would  be  so  to  those  of  most  men,  but  they  were  not 
to  mine.  I  sought  her  eye,  desirous  to  read  there  the  intelli- 
gence which  I  could  not  discern  in  her  face  or  hear  in  her  con- 
versation ;  it  was  merry,  rather  small ;  by  turns  I  saw  vivacity, 
vanity,  coquetry,  look  out  through  its  irid,  but  I  watched  in 
vain  for  a  glimpse  of  soul.  I  am  no  Oriental ;  white  necks, 
carmine  lips  and  cheeks,  clusters  of  bright  curls,  do  not  suffice 
for  me  without  that  Promethean  spark  which  will  live  after  tht 
roses  and  lilies  are  faded,  the  burnished  hair  grown  gray.  IE 
sunshine,  in  prosperity,  the  flowers  are  very  well;  but  ho\v 
many  wet  days  are  there  in  life — November  seasons  of  disaster 
when  a  man's  hearth  and  home  would  be  cold  indeed  withoul 
the  clear,  cheering  gleam  of  intellect. 

"  Having  perused  the  fair  page  of  Mrs.  Crimsworth's  face,  a 
deep,  involuntary  sigh  announced  my  disappointment ;  she  took 
it  as  a  homage  to  her  beauty,  and  Edward,  who  was  evidently 
proud  of  his  rich  and  handsome  young  wife,  threw  on  me  a 
glance — half  ridicule,  half  ire. 

"  I  turned  from  them  both,  and  gazing  wearily  round  the 
room,  I  saw  two  pictures  set  in  the  oak  panelling — one  on  each 
side  the  mantelpiece.  Ceasing  to  take  part  in  the  bantering 
conversation  that  flowed  on  between  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crimsworth, 
I  bent  my  thoughts  to  the  examination  of  these  pictures.  They 
were  portraits — a  lady  and  a  gentleman,  both  costumed  in  tht 
fashion  of  twenty  years  ago.  The  gentleman  was  in  the  shade, 
I  could  not  see  him  well.  The  lady  had  the  benefit  of  a  full  bean] 
from  the  softly-shaded  lamp.  I  presently  recognized  her ;  I  had 
seen  this  picture  before  in  childhood ;  it  was  my  mother ;  thai 
and  the  companion  picture  being  the  only  heirlooms  saved  out 
of  the  sale  of  my  father's  property. 

"The  face,  I  remembered,  had  pleased  me  as  a  boy;  but 
then  I  did  not  understand  it ;  now  I  knew  how  rare  that  class  oi 
face  is  in  the  world,  and  I  appreciated  keenly  its  thoughtful 
yet  gentle  expression.  The  serious  gray  eye  possessed  for  me 
a  strong  charm,  as  did  certain  lines  in  the  features  indicative 
of  most  true  and  tender  feeling.  I  was  sorry  it  was  only  a 
picture. 

"  I  soon  left  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crimsworth  to  themselves ;  a  ser- 


THE  PROFESSOR.  17 

vant  conducted  me  to  my  bed-room ;  in  closing  my  chamber- 
door,  I  shut  out  all  intruders — you,  Charles,  as  well  as  the  rest. 

"  Good-bye  for  the  present. 

"  WILLIAM  CRIMSWOETH." 

To  this  letter  I  never  got  an  answer ;  before  my  old  friend 
received  it,  he  had  accepted  a  Government  appointment  in  one 
of  the  colonies,  and  Avas  already  on  his  way  to  the  scene  of  his 
official  labors.  What  has  become  of  him  since,  I  know  not. 

The  leisure  time  I  have  at  command,  and  which  I  intended 
to  employ  for  his  private  benefit,  I  shall  now  dedicate  to  that  of 
the  public  at  large.  My  narrative  is  not  exciting,  and  above 
all,  not  marvellous ;  but  it  may  interest  some  individuals,  who, 
having  toiled  in  the  same  vocation  as  myself,  will  find  in  my 
experience  frequent  reflections  of  their  own.  The  above  letter 
•will  serve  as  an  introduction.  I  now  proceed. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  FINE  October  morning  succeeded  to  the  foggy  evening 
_LA_  that  had  witnessed  my  first  introduction  to  Crimsworth 
Hall.  I  was  early  up  and  walking  in  the  large  park-like 
meadow  surrounding  the  house.  The  autumn  sun,  rising  over 

the shire  hills,  disclosed  a  pleasant  country ;  woods  brown 

and  mellow  varied  the  fields  from  which  the  harvest  had  been 
lately  carried ;  a  river  gliding  between  the  woods,  caught  on 
its  surface  the  somewhat  cold  gleam  of  the  October  sun  and 
sky ;  at  frequent  intervals  along  the  banks  of  the  river,  tall, 
cylindrical  chimneys,  almost  like  slender  round  towers,  indi- 
cated the  factories  which  the  trees  half  concealed ;  here  and 
there  mansions,  similar  to  Crimsworth  Hall,  occupied  agree- 
able sites  on  the  hill-side;  the  country  wore,  on  the  whole,  a 
cheerful,  active,  fertile  look.  Steam,  trade,  machinery,  had 
long  banished  from  it  all  romance  and  seclusion.  At  a  dis- 

2 


18  THE  PROFESSOR. 

tance  of  five  miles,  a  valley  opening  between  the  low  hills  held 

in  its  cups  the  great  town  of  X .     A  dense,  permanent  vapor 

brooded  over  this  locality — there  lay  Edward's  "  Concern." 

I  forced  my  eye  to  scrutinize  this  prospect,  I  forced  my  mind 
to  dwell  on  it  for  a  time,  and  when  I  found  that  it  communi- 
cated no  pleasurable  emotion  to  my  heart — that  it  stirred  in 
me  none  of  the  hopes  a  man  ought  to  feel,  when  he  sees  laid 
before  him  the  scene  of  his  life's  career — I  said  to  myself, 
"William,  you  are  a  rebel  against  circumstances;  you  are  a 
fool,  and  know  not  what  you  want ;  you  have  chosen  trade,  and 
you  shall  be  a  tradesman.  Look!"  I  continued  mentally — 
"  Look  at  the  sooty  smoke  in  that  hollow,  and  know  that  there 
is  your  post !  There  you  cannot  dream,  you  cannot  speculate 
and  theorize — there  you  shall  out  and  work !" 

Thus  self-schooled,  I  returned  to  the  house.  My  brother  was 
in  the  breakfast-room.  I  met  him  collectedly — I  could  not  meet 
him  cheerfully ;  he  was  standing  on  the  rug,  his  back  to  the 
fire.  How  much  did  I  read  in  the  expression  of  his  eye  as  my 
glance  encountered  his,  when  I  advanced  to  bid  him  good-morn- 
ing— how  much  that  was  contradictory  to  my  nature !  He  said, 
"  Good-morning"  abruptly  and  nodded,  and  then  he  snatched, 
rather  than  took,  a  newspaper  from  the  table,  and  began  to 
read  it  with  the  air  of  a  master  who  seizes  a  pretext  to  escape 
the  bore  of  conversing  with  an  underling.  It  was  well  I  had 
taken  a  resolution  to  endure  for  a  time,  or  his  manner  would 
have  gone  far  to  render  insupportable  the  disgust  I  had  just  been 
endeavoring  to  subdue.  I  looked  at  him :  I  measured  his  robust 
frame  and  powerful  proportions ;  I  saw  my  own  reflection  in 
the  mirror  over  the  mantelpiece ;  I  amused  myself  with  com- 
paring the  two  pictures.  In  face  I  resembled  him,  though  I  was 
not  so  handsome ;  my  features  were  less  regular ;  I  had  a  darker 
eye,  and  a  broader  brow — in  form  I  was  greatly  inferior — 
thinner,  slighter,  not  so  tall.  As  an  animal,  Edward  excelled 
me  far ;  should  he  prove  as  paramount  in  mind  as  in  person,  I 
must  be  a  slave,  for  I  must  expect  from  him  no  lion-like  gene- 
rosity to  one  weaker  than  himself;  his  cold,  avaricious  eye,  his 
stern,  forbidding  manner,  told  me  he  would  not  spare.  Had  I 
then  force  of  mind  to  cope  with  him  ?  I  did  not  know ;  I  had 
never  been  tried. 


THE  PROFESSOR.  19 

Mrs.  Crirnsworth's  entrance  diverted  my  thoughts  for  a  mo- 
ment. She  looked  well,  dressed  in  white,  her  face  and  her 
attire  shining  in  morning  and  bridal  freshness.  I  addressed  her 
with  the  degree  of  ease  her  last  night's  careless  gayety  seemed  to 
warrant ;  she  replied  with  coolness  and  restraint.  Her  husband 
had  tutored  her ;  she  was  not  to  be  too  familiar  with  his  clerk. 

As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  Mr.  Crimsworth  intimated  to 
me  that  they  were  bringing  the  gig  round  to  the  door,  and  that 
in  five  minutes  he  should  expect  me  to  be  ready  to  go  down 

with  him  to  X .  I  did  not  keep  him  waiting ;  we  were  soon 

dashing  at  a  rapid  rate  along  the  road.  The  horse  he  drove 
was  the  same  vicious  animal  about  which  Mrs.  Crimsworth  had 
expressed  her  fears  the  night  before.  Once  or  twice  Jack 
seemed  disposed  to  turn  restive,  but  a  vigorous  and  determined 
application  of  the  whip  from  the  ruthless  hand  of  his  master 
soon  compelled  him  to  submission,  and  Edward's  dilated  nos- 
tril expressed  his  triumph  in  the  result  of  the  contest;  he 
scarcely  spoke  to  me  during  the  whole  of  the  brief  drive,  only 
opening  his  lips  at  intervals  to  curse  his  horse. 

X was  all  stir  and  bustle  when  we  entered  it.  "We  left 

the  clean  streets,  where,  there  were  dwelling-houses  and  shops, 
churches,  and  public  buildings ;  we  left  all  these,  and  turned 
down  to  a  region  of  mills  and  warehouses ;  thence  we  passed 
through  two  massive  gates  into  a  paved  yard,  and  we  were  in 
Bigben  Close,  and  the  mill  was  before  us,  vomiting  soot  from 
its  long  chimney,  and  quivering  through  its  thick  brick  walls 
with  the  commotion  of  its  iron  bowels.  Workpeople  were  pass- 
ing to  and  fro ;  a  wagon  was  being  laden  with  pieces.  Mr. 
Crimsworth  looked  from  side  to  side,  and  seemed  at  one  glance 
to  comprehend  all  that  was  going  on.  He  alighted,  and  leaving 
his -horse  and  gig  to  the  care  of  a  man  who  hastened  to  take  the 
reins  from  his  hand,  he  bade  me  follow  him  to  the  counting- 
house.  We  entered  it ;  a  very  different  place  from  the  parlors 
of  Crimsworth  Hall-  -a  place  for  business,  with  a  bare,  planked 
floor,  a  safe,  two  high  desks  and  stools,  and  some  chairs. 
A  person  was  seated  at  one  of  the  desks,  who  took  off  his 
square  cap  when  Mr.  Crimsworth  entered,  and  in  an  instant 
was  again  absorbed  in  his  occupation  of  writing  or  calculating, 
I  know  not  which. 


20  TEE  PROFESSOR. 

Mr.  Crimsworth  having  removed  his  mackintosh,  sat  down 
by  the  fire.  I  remained  standing  near  the  hearth.  He  said, 
presently,  "  Steighton,  you  may  leave  the.  room ;  I  have  some 
business  to  transact  with  this  gentleman.  Come  back  when  you 
hear  the  bell." 

The  individual  at  the  desk  rose  and  departed,  closing  the 
door  as  he  went  out.  Mr.  Crimsworth  stirred  the  fire,  then 
folded  his  arms,  and  sat  for  a  moment  thinking,  his  lips  com- 
pressed, his  brow  knit.  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  watch  him. 
How  well  his  features  were  cut!  what  a  handsome  man  he  was! 
"Whence,  then,  came  that  air  of  contraction — that  narrow  and 
hard  aspect  on  his  forehead,  in  all  his  lineaments  ? 

Turning  to  me,  he  began  abruptly,  "  You  are  come  down  to 
• shire  to  learn  to  be  a  tradesman  ?" 

"Yes,  lam." 

"  Have  you  made  up  your  mind  on  the  point?  Let  me  know 
that  at  once." 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  bound  to  help  you,  but  I  have  a  place  here 
vacant,  if  you  are  qualified  for  it.  I  will  take  you  on  trial. 
What  can  you  do  ?  Do  you  know  anything  besides  that  use- 
less trash  of  college  learning — Greek,  Latin,  and  so  forth  ?" 

"  I  have  studied  mathematics." 

"  Stuff!     I  daresay  you  have." 

"  I  can  read  and  write  French  and  German." 

"  Hum !"  He  reflected  a  moment,  then  opening  a  drawer  in 
a  desk  near  him  took  out  a  letter,  and  gave  it  to  me. 

"  Can  you  read  that  ?"  he  asked. 

It  was  a  German  commercial  letter ;  I  translated  it ;  I  could 
not  tell  whether  he  was  gratified  or  not — his  countenance  re- 
mained fixed. 

"  It  is  well,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  that  you  are  acquainted 
with  something  useful,  something  that  may  enable  you  to  earn 
your  board  and  lodging ;  since  you  know  French  and  German,  I 
will  take  you  as  second  clerk  to  manage  the  foreign  correspond- 
ence of  the  house.  I  shall  give  you  a  good  salary — ninety  pounds 
a  year — and  now,"  he  continued,  raising  his  voice,  "  hear  once  for 
all  what  I  have  to  say  about  our  relationship,  and  all  that  sort 
of  humbug !  I  must  have  no  nonsense  on  that  point ;  it  would 


THE  PROFESSOR.  21 

never  suit  me.  I  shall  excuse  you  nothing  on  the  plea  of  being 
my  brother ;  if  I  find  you  stupid,  negligent,  dissipated,  idle,  or 
possessed  of  any  faults  detrimental  to  the  interests  of  the  house, 
I  shall  dismiss  you  as  I  would  any  other  clerk.  Ninety  pounds 
a  year  are  good  wages,  and  I  expect  to  have  the  full  value  of 
my  money  out  of  you ;  remember,  too,  that  things  are  on  a 
practical  footing  in  my  establishment — business-like  habits, 
feelings,  and  ideas,  suit  me  best.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

"  Partly,"  I  replied.  "  I  suppose  you  mean  that  I  am  to 
do  my  work  for  my  wages ;  not  to  expect  favor  from  you,  and 
not  to  depend  on  you  for  any  help  but  what  I  earn ;  that 
suits  me  exactly,  and  on  these  terms  I  will  consent  to  be  your 
clerk." 

I  turned  on  my  heel,  and  walked  to  the  window ;  this  time  I 
did  not  consult  his  face  to  learn  his  opinion  ;  what  it  was  I  do 
not  know,  nor  did  I  then  care.  After  a  silence  of  some  minutes 
he  recommenced : — "  You  perhaps  expect  to  be  accommodated 
with  apartments  at  Crimsworth  Hall,  and  to  go  and  come  with 
me  in  the  gig.  I  wish  you,  however,  to  be  aware  that  such  an 
arrangement  would  be  quite  inconvenient  to  me.  I  like  to 
have  the  seat  in  my  gig  at  liberty  for  any  gentleman  whom  for 
business  reasons  I  may  wish  to  take  down  to  the  Hall  for  a 
night  or  so.  You  will  seek  out  lodgings  in  X ." 

Quitting  the  window,  I  walked  back  to  the  hearth. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  seek  out  lodgings  in  X ,"  I  answered. 

"  It  would  not  suit  me  either  to  lodge  at  Crimsworth  Hall." 

My  tone  was  quiet.  I  always  speak  quietly.  Yet  Mr. 
Crimsworth's  blue  eye  became  incensed ;  he  took  his-  revenge 
rather  oddly.  Turning  to  me  he  said,  bluntly,  "  You  are  poor 
enough,  I  suppose;  how  do  you  expect  to  live  till  your  quarter's 
salary  becomes  due  ?" 

"  I  shall  get  on,"  said  I. 

"  How  do  you  expect  to  live  ?"  he  repeated  in  a  louder  voice,. 

"  As  I  can,  Mr.  Crimsworth." 

"  Get  into  debt  at  your  peril !  that's  all,"  he  answered.  '  For 
aught  I  know  you  may  have  extravagant,  aristocratic  habits  ; 
if  you  have,  drop  them ;  I  tolerate  nothing  of  the  sort  here,  and 
I  will  never  give  you  a  shilling  extra,  whatever  liabilities  you 
may  incur — mind  that." 


22  THE  PROFESSOR. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Crimsworth,  you  will  find  that  I  have  a  good 

memory." 

I  said  no  more.  I  did  not  think  the  time  was  come  for 
much  parley.  I  had  an  instinctive  feeling  that  it  would  be 
folly  to  let  one's  temper  effervesce  often  with  such  a  man  as 
Edward.  I  said  to  myself,  "  I  will  place  my  cup  under  this 
continual  dropping  ;  it  shall  stand  there  still  and  steady  ;  when 
full,  it  will  run  over  of  itself— meantime  patience.  Two  things 
are  certain.  I  am  capable  of  performing  the  work  Mr.  Crims- 
worth has  set  me ;  I  can.  earn  my  wages  conscientiously,  and 
those  wages  are  sufficient  to  enable  me  to  live.  As  to  the  fact 
of  my  brother  assuming  towards  me  the  bearing  of  a  proud, 
harsh  master,  the  fault  is  his,  not  mine ;  and  shall  his  injustice, 
his  bad  feeling,  turn  me  at  once  aside  from  the  path  I  have 
chosen?  No ;  at  least,  ere  I  deviate,  I  will  advance  far  enough 
to  see  whither  my  career  tends.  As  yet  I  am  only  pressing 
in  at  the  entrance — a  strait  gate  enough ;  it  ought  to  have  a 
good  terminus."  While  I  thus  reasoned,  Mr.  Crimsworth  rang 
a  bell ;  his  first  clerk,  the  individual  dismissed  previously  to  our 
conference,  re-entered. 

"  Mr.  Steighton,"  said  he, "  show  Mr.  William  the  letters  from 
Voss  Brothers,  and  give  him  English  copies  of  the  answers  ;  he 
will  translate  them." 

Mr.  Steighton,  a  man  of  about  thirty-five,  with  a  face  at  once 
sly  and  heavy,  hastened  to  execute  this  order  ;  he  laid  the  letters 
on  the  desk,  and  I  was  soon  seated  at  it,  and  engaged  in  render- 
ing the  English  answers  into  German.  A  sentiment  of  keen 
pleasure  accompanied  this  first  effort  to  earn  my  own  living — a 
sentiment  neither  poisoned  nor  weakened  by  the  presence  of  the 
taskmaster,  who  stood  and  watched  me  for  some  time  as  I  wrote. 
I  thought  he  was  trying  to  read  my  character,  but  I  felt  as 
secure  against  his  scrutiny  as  if  I  had  had  on  a  casque  with  the 
visor  down — or  rather  I  showed  him  my  countenance  with  the 
confidence  that  one  would  show  an  unlearned  man  a  letter 
written  in  Greek ;  he  might  see  lines,  and  trace  characters,  but 
he  could  make  nothing  of  them  ;  my  nature^was  not  his  nature, 
and  its  signs  were  to  him  like  the  words  of  an  unknown  tongue. 
Ere  long  he  turned  away  abruptly,  as  if  baffled,  and  left  the 
counting-house ;  he  returned  to  it  but  twice  in  the  course  of  that 


THE  PROFESSOR.  23 

day  •  each  time  he  mixed  and  swallowed  a  glass  of  brandy-and- 
water,  the  materials  for  making  which  he  extracted  from  a  cup- 
board on  one  side  of  the  fireplace :  having  glanced  at  my  trans- 
lations— he  could  read  both  French  and  German — he  went  out 
again  in  silence. 


CHAPTER   III. 

I  SERVED  Edward  as  his  second  clerk  faithfully,  punctually, 
diligently.  What  was  given  me  to  do  I  had  the  power  and 
the  determination  to  do  well.  Mr.  Crimsworth  watched  sharply 
for  defects,  but  found  none ;  he  set  Timothy  Steighton,  his 
favorite  and  head  man,  to  watch  also.  Tim  was  baffled ;  I  was 
as  exact  as  himself,  and  quicker.  Mr.  Crimsworth  made  inquiries 
as  to  how  I  lived,  whether  I  got  into  debt ;  no,  my  accounts  with 
my  landlady  were  always  straight.  I  had  hired  small  lodgings, 
which  I  contrived  to  pay  for  out  of  a  slender  fund — the  accu- 
mulated savings  of  my  Eton  pocket-money ;  for  as  it  had  ever 
been  abhorrent  to  my  nature  to  ask  pecuniary  assistance,  I  had 
early  acquired  habits  of  self-denying  economy ;  husbanding  my 
monthly  allowance  with  anxious  care,  in  order  to  obviate  the 
danger  of  being  forced,  in  some  moment  of  future  exigency  r  to 
beg  additional  aid.  I  remember  many  called  me  miser  at  the 
time,  and  I  used  to  couple  the  reproach  with  this  consolation — 
better  to  be  misunderstood  now  than  repulsed  hereafter.  At 
this  day  I  had  my  reward ;  I  had  had  it  before,  when  on  part- 
ing with  my  irritated  uncles  one  of  them  threw  down  on  the 
table  before  me  a  five  pound  note,  which  I  was  able  to  leave 
there,  saying  that  my  travelling  expenses  were  already  provided 
for.  Mr.  Crimsworth  employed  Tim  to  find  out  whether  my 
landlady  had  any  complaint  to  make  on  the  score  of  my 
morals  ;  she  answered  that  she  believed  I  was  a  very  religious 
man,  and  asked  Tim,  in  her  turn,  if  he  thought  I  had  any  in- 
tention of  going  into  the  Church  some  day ;  for,  she  said,  she 
had  had  young  curates  to  lodge  in  her  house  who  were  nothing 


24  THE  PROFESSOR. 

equal  to  me  for  steadiness  and  quietness.  Tim  was  "  a  religious 
man"  himself;  indeed  he  was  "a  joined  Methodist,"  which  did 
not  (be  it  understood)  prevent  him  from  being  at  the  same  time 
an  ingrained  rascal,  and  he  came  away  much  posed  at  hearing 
this  account  of  my  piety.  Having  imparted  it  to  Mr.  Crims- 
worth, that  gentleman,  who  himself  frequented  no  place  of  wor- 
ship, and  owned  no  God  but  Mammon,  turned  the  information 
into  a  weapon  of  attack  against  the  equability  of  my  temper. 
He  commenced  a  series  of  covert  sneers,  of  which  I  did  not  at 
first  perceive  the  drift,  till  my  landlady  happened  to  relate  the 
conversation  she  had  had  with  Mr.  Steighton  ;  this  enlightened 
me.  Afterwards  I  came  to  the  counting-house  prepared,  and 
managed  to  receive  the  mill-owner's  blasphemous  sarcasms, 
when  next  levelled  at  me,  on  a  buckler  of  impenetrable  indiffer- 
ence. Ere  long  he  tired  of  wasting  his  ammunition  on  a  statue, 
but  he  did  not  throw  away  the  shafts — he  only  kept  them  quiet 
in  his  quiver. 

Once  during  my  clerkship  I  had  an  invitation  to  Crimsworth 
Hall ;  it  was  on  the  occasion  of  a  large  party  given  in  honor  of 
the  master's  birthday ;  he  had  always  been  accustomed  to  invite 
his  clerks  on  similar  anniversaries,  and  could  not  well  pass  me 
over ;  I  was,  however,  kept  strictly  in  the  background.  Mrs. 
Crimsworth,  elegantly  dressed  in  satin  and  lace,  blooming  in 
youth  and  health,  vouchsafed  me  no  more  notice  than  was  ex- 
pressed by  a  distant  move ;  Crimsworth,  of  course,  never  spoke 
to  me ;  I  was  introduced  to  none  of  the  band  of  young  ladies, 
who,  enveloped  in  silvery  clouds  of  white  gauze  and  muslin,  sat 
in  array  against  me  on  the  opposite  side  of  a  long  and  large 
room  ;  in  fact,  I  was  fairly  isolated,  and  could  but  contemplate 
the  shining  ones  from  afar,  and  when  weary  of  such  a  dazzling 
scene,  turn  for  a  change  to  the  consideration  of  the  carpet 
pattern.  Mr.  Crimsworth,  standing  on  the  rug,  his  elbow  sup- 
ported by  the  marble  mantelpiece,  and  about  him  a  group  of 
very  pretty  girls,  with  whom  he  conversed  gayly — Mr.  Crims- 
worth, thus  placed,  glanced  at  me ;  I  looked  weary,  solitary, 
kept  down  like  some  desolate  tutor  or  governess ;  he  was  satis- 
fied. 

Dancing  began ;  I  should  have  liked  well  enough  to  be  intro- 
duced to  some  pleasing  and  intelligent  girl,  and  to  have  freedom 


THE  PROFESSOR.  25 

and  opportunity  to  show  that  I  could  both  feel  and  communi- 
cate the  pleasure  of  social  intercourse — that  I  was  not,  in  short,  a 
block  or  a  piece  of  furniture,  but  an  acting,  thinking,  sentient 
man.  Many  smiling  faces  and  graceful  figures  glided  past  me, 
but  the  smiles  were  lavished  on  other  eyes,  the  figures  sustained 
by  other  hands  than  mine.  I  turned  away  tantalized,  left  the 
dancers,  and  wandered  into  the  oak-panelled  dining-room.  No 
fibre  of  sympathy  united  me  to  any  living  thing  in  this  house  ; 
I  looked  for  and  found  my  mother's  picture.  I  took  a  wax  taper 
from  a  stand,  and  held  it  up.  I  gazed  long,  earnestly ;  my  heart 
grew  to  the  image.  My  mother,  I  perceived,  had  bequeathed  to 
me  much  of  her  features  and  countenance — her  forehead,  her 
eyes,  her  complexion.  No  regular  beauty  pleases  egotistical 
human  beings  so  much  as  a  softened  and  refined  likeness  of 
themselves ;  for  this  reason,  fathers  regard  with  complacency 
the  lineaments  of  their  daughters'  faces,  where  frequently  their 
own  similitude  is  found  flatteringly  associated  with  softness  of 
hue  and  delicacy  of  outline.  I  was  just  wondering  how  that 
picture,  to  me  so  interesting,  would  strike  an  impartial  spec- 
tator, when  a  voice  close  behind  me  pronounced  the  words — 
"  Humph  !  there's  some  sense  in  that  face." 

I  turned  ;  at  my  elbow  stood  a  tall  man,  young,  though  prob- 
ably five  or  six  years  older  than  I — in  other  respects  of  an  ap- 
pearance the  opposite  to  commonplace ;  though  just  now,  as  I 
am  not  disposed  to  paint  his  portrait  in  detail,  the  reader  must 
be  content  with  the  silhouette  I  have  just  thrown  off;  it  was  all 
I  myself  saw  of  him  for  the  moment :  I  did  not  investigate  the 
color  of  his  eyebrows,  nor  of  his  eyes  either ;  I  saw  his  stature, 
and  the  outline  of  his  shape  ;  I  saw,  too,  his  fastidious-looking 
retrousse  nose ;  these  observations,  few  in  number,  and  general 
in  character  (the  last  excepted),  sufficed,  for  they  enabled  me 
to  recognize  him. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Hunsden,"  muttered  I,  with  a  bow,  and 
then,  like  a  shy  noodle  as  I  was,  I  began  moving  away — and 
why  ?  Simply  because  Mr.  Hunsden  was  a  manufacturer  and 
a  mill-owner,  and  I  was  only  a  clerk,  and  my  instinct  propelled 
me  from  my  superior.  I  had  frequently  seen  Hunsden  in  Bigben 
Close,  where  he  came  almost  weekly  to  transact  business  with 
Mr.  Crimsworth,  but  I  had  never  spoken  to  him,  nor  he  to  me, 


26  THE  PROFESSOR. 

and  I  owed  him  a  sort  of  involuntary  grudge,  because  he  had 
more  than  once  been  the  tacit  witness  of  insults  offered  by 
Edward  to  me.  I  had  the  conviction  that  he  could  only  regard 
me  as  a  poor-spirited  slave,  wherefore  I  now  went  about  to  shun 
his  presence  and  eschew  his  conversation. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?"  asked  he,  as  I  edged  off  sideways. 
I  had  already  noticed  that  Mr.  Hunsden  indulged  in  abrupt 
forms  of  speech,  and  I  perversely  said  to  myself, — 

"  He  thinks  he  may  speak  as  he  likes  to  a  poor  clerk ;  but 
my  mood  is  not,  perhaps,  so  supple  as  he  deems  it,  and  his 
rough  freedom  pleases  me  not  at  all." 

I  made  some  slight  reply,  rather  indifferent  than  courteous, 
and  continued  to  move  away.  He  coolly  planted  himself  in  my 
path. 

"  Stay  here  a  while,"  said  he :  "  it  is  so  hot  in  the  dancing- 
room  ;  besides,  you  don't  dance ;  you  have  not  had  a  partner 
to-night." 

He  was  right ;  and  as  he  spoke,  neither  his  look,  tone,  nor 
manner  displeased  me.  My  amour-propre  was  propitiated ;  he 
had  not  addressed  me  out  of  condescension,  but  because,  having 
repaired  to  the  cool  dining-room  for  refreshment,  he  now 
wanted  some  one  to  talk  to,  by  way  of  temporary  amusement. 
I  hate  to  be  condescended  to,  but  I  like  well  enough  to  oblige. 
I  stayed. 

"  That  is  a  good  picture,"  he  continued,  recurring  to  the  por- 
trait. 

"  Do  you  consider  the  face  pretty  ?"  I  asked. 

"Pretty!  no — how  can  it  be  pretty,  with  sunk  eyes  and  hol- 
low cheeks  ?  But  it  is  peculiar ;  it  seems  to  think.  You  could 
have  a  talk  with  that  woman,  if  she  were  alive,  on  other  sub- 
jects than  dress,  visiting,  and  compliments." 

I  agreed  with  him,  but  did  not  say  so.     He  went  on. 

"  Not  that  I  admire  a  head  of  that  sort ;  it  wants  character  and 
force  ;  there's  too  much  of  the  sen-si-tive"  (so  he  articulated  it, 
curling  his  lip  at  the  same  time)  "  in  that  mouth ;  besides,  there 
is  aristocrat  written  on  the  'brow  and  defined  in  the  figure  ;  I 
hate  your  aristocrats." 

"  You  think,  then,  Mr.  Hunsden,  that  patrician  descent  may 
be  read  in  a  distinctive  cast  of  form  and  features  ?" 


THE  PROFESSOR.  27 

"  Patrician  descent,  be  hanged !  Who  doubts  that  your  lord- 
lings  may  have  their  distinctive  '  cast  of  form  and  features'  as 

much  as  we shire  tradesmen  have  ours  ?  But  which  is  the 

best  ?  Not  theirs,  assuredly.  As  to  their  women,  it  is  a  little 
different ;  they  cultivate  beauty  from  childhood  upwards,  and 
may  by  care  and  training  attain  to  a  certain  degree  of  excel- 
lence in  that  point,  just  like  the  Oriental  odalisques.  Yet  even 
this  superiority  is  doubtful.  Compare  the  figure  in  that  frame 
with  Mrs.  Edward  Crimsworth — which  is  the  finer  animal  ?" 

I  replied  quietly,  "  Compare  yourself  and  Mr.  Edward  Crims- 
worth, Mr.  Hunsden." 

"  Oh,  Crimsworth  is  better  filled  up  than  I  am,  I  know  ;  be- 
sides, he  has  a  straight  nose,  arched  eyebrows,  and  all  that ;  but 
these  advantages — if  they  are  advantages — he  did  not  inherit 
from  his  mother,  the  patrician,  but  from  his  father,  old  Crims- 
worth, who,  my  father  says,  was  as  veritable  a shire  blue- 
dyer  as  ever  put  indigo  in  a  vat,  yet  withal  the  handsomest 
man  in  the  three  Ridings.  It  is  you,  William,  who  are  the  aris- 
tocrat of  your  family,  and  you  are  not  as  fine  a  fellow  as  your 
plebeian  brother,  by  a  long  chalk." 

There  was  something  in  Mr.  Hunsden's  point-blank  mode  of 
speech  Avhich  rather  pleased  me  than  otherwise,  because  it  set 
me  at  my  ease.  I  continued  the  conversation  with  a  degree  of 
interest. 

"  How  do  you  happen  to  know  that  I  am  Mr.  Crimsworth's 
brother  ?  I  thought  you  and  everybody  else  looked  upon  me 
only  in  the  light  of  a  poor  clerk." 

"  Well,  and  so  we  do  ;  and  what  are  you  but  a  poor  clerk  ? 
You  do  Crimsworth's  work,  and  he  gives  you  wages — shabby 
wages  they  are,  too." 

I  was  silent.  Hunsden's  language  now  bordered  on  the  im- 
pertinent, still  his  manner  did  not  offend  me  in  the  least — it 
only  piqued  my  curiosity  ;  I  wanted  him  to  go  on,  which  he  did 
in  a  little  while. 

"  This  world  is  an  absurd  one,"  said  he. 

"  Why  so,  Mr.  Hunsden  ?" 

"  I  wonder  you  should  ask  :  you  are  yourself  a  strong  proof 
of  the  absurdity  I  allude  to." 

I  was  determined  that  he  should  explain  himself  of  his  own 


28  THE  PROFESSOR. 

accord,  without  my  pressing  him  so  to  do,  so  I  resumed  my 
silence. 

"  Is  it  your  intention  to  become  a  tradesman  ?"  he  inquired 
presently. 

"  It  was  my  serious  intention  three  months  ago." 

"  Humph !  the  more  fool  you — you  look  like  a  tradesman ! 
What  a  practical  business-like  face  you  have !" 

"  My  face  is  as  the  Lord  made  it,  Mr.  Hunsden." 

"  The  Lord  never  made  either  your  face  or  head  for  X . 

What  good  can  your  bumps  of  ideality,  comparison,  self-esteem, 
conscientiousness,  do  you  here  ?  But  if  you  like  Bigben  Close, 
stay  there ;  it's  your  own  affair,  not  mine." 

"  Perhaps  I  have  no  choice." 

"  Well,  I  care  naught  about  it — it  will  make  little  difference 
to  me  what  you  do  or  where  you  go ;  but  I'm  cool  now — I  want 
to  dance  again ;  and  I  see  such  a  fine  girl  sitting  in  the  corner 
of  the  sofa  there  by  her  mamma ;  see  if  I  don't  get  her  for  a 
partner  in  a  jiffy !  There's  Waddy — Sam  Waddy — making  up 
to  her ;  won't  I  cut  him  out  ?" 

And  Mr.  Hunsden  strode  away.  I  watched  him  through  the 
open  folding-doors ;  he  outstripped  Waddy,  applied  for  the 
hand  of  the  fine  girl,  and  led  her  off  triumphantly.  She  was  a 
tall,  well-made,  full-formed,  dashingly-dressed  young  woman, 
much  in  the  style  of  Mrs.  E.  Crimsworth;  Hunsden  whirled 
her  through  the  waltz  with  spirit ;  he  kept  at  her  side  during 
the  remainder  of  the  evening,  and  I  read  in  her  animated  and 
gratified  countenance  that  he  succeeded  in  making  himself  per- 
fectly agreeable.  The  mamma,  too  (a  stout  person  in  a  turban 
— Mrs.  Lupton  by  name),  looked  well  pleased ;  prophetic  visions 
probably  flattered  her  inward  eye.  The  Hunsdens  were  of  an 
old  stem ;  and  scornful  as  Yorke  (such  was  my  late  interlocu- 
tor's name)  professed  to  be  of  the  advantages  of  birth,  in  his 
secret  heart  he  well  knew  and  fully  appreciated  the  distinction 
his  ancient  if  not  high  lineage  conferred  on  him  in  a  mush- 
room-place like  X ,  concerning  whose  inhabitants  it  was 

proverbially  said,  that  not  one  in  a  thousand  knew  his  own 
grandfather.  Moreover,  the  Hunsdens,  once  rich,  were  still 
independent ;  and  report  affirmed  that  Yorke  bade  fair,  by  his 
success  hi  business,  to  restore  to  pristine  prosperity  the  parti- 


THE  PROFESSOR.  29 

ally  decayed  fortunes  of  his  house.  These  circumstances  con- 
sidered, Mrs.  Lupton's  broad  face  might  well  wear  a  smile  of 
complacency  as  she  contemplated  the  heir  of  Hunsden  Wood 
occupied  in  paying  assiduous  court  to  her  darling  Sarah 
Martha.  I,  however,  whose  observations  being  legs  anxious, 
were  likely  to  be  more  accurate,  soon  saw  that  the  grounds  for 
maternal  self-congratulation  were  slight  indeed  ;  the  gentleman 
appeared  to  me  much  more  desirous  of  making  than  suscepti- 
ble of  receiving  an  impression.  I  know  not  what  it  was  in 
Mr.  Hunsden  that,  as  I  watched  him  (I  had  nothing  better  to 
do),  suggested  to  me,  every  now  and  then,  the  idea  of  a 
foreigner.  In  form  and  features  he  might  be  pronounced 
English,  though  even  there  one  caught  a  dash  of  something 
Gallic  ;  but  he  had  no  English  shyness ;  he  had  learned  some- 
where, somehow,  the  art  of  setting  himself  quite  at  ease,  and  of 
allowing  no  insular  timidity  to  intervene  as  a  barrier  between 
him  and  his  convenience  or  pleasure.  Refinement  he  did  not 
affect,  yet  vulgar  he  could  not  be  called  ;  he  was  not  odd — no 
quiz — yet  he  resembled  no  one  else  I  had  ever  seen  before ;  his 
general  bearing  intimated  complete,  sovereign  satisfaction  with 
himself;  yet,  at  times,  an  indescribable  shade  passed  like  an 
eclipse  over  his  countenance,  and  seemed  to  me  like  the  sign  of 
a  sudden  and  strong  inward  doubt  of  himself,  his  words  and 
actions — an  energetic  discontent  at  his  life  or  his  social  posi- 
tion, his  future  prospects  or  his  mental  attainments — I  know 
not  which ;  perhaps  after  all  it  might  only  be  a  bilious  caprice. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

NO  man  likes  to  acknowledge  that  he  has  made  a  mistake 
in  the  choice  of  his  profession,  and  every  man,  worthy  of 
the  name,  will  row  long  against  wind  and  tide  before  he  allows 
himself  to  cry  out,  "  I  am  baffled !"  and  submits  to  be  floated 
passively  back  to  land.     From  the  first  week  of  my  residence 


30  THE  PROFESSOR. 

in  X I  felt  my  occupation  irksome.     The  thing  itself— the 

work  of  copying  and  translating  business-letters — was  a  dry  and 
tedious  task  enough,  but  had  that  been  all,  I  should  long  have 
borne  with  the  nuisance  ;  I  am  not  of  an  impatient  nature,  and, 
influenced  by  the  double  desire  of  getting  my  living  and  justi- 
fying to  myself  and  others  the  resolution  I  had  taken  to  become 
a  tradesman,  I  should  have  endured  in  silence  the  rust  and 
cramp  of  my  best  faculties ;  I  should  not  have  whispered,  even 
inwardly,  that  I  longed  for  liberty  ;  I  should  have  pent  in 
every  sigh  by  which  my  heart  might  have  ventured  to  intimate 
its  distress  under  the  closeness,  smoke,  monotony  and  joyless 
tumult  of  Bigben  Close,  and  its  panting  desire  for  freer  and 
fresher  scenes ;  I  should  have  set  up  the  image  of  Duty,  the 
fetish  of  Perseverance,  in  my  small  bedroom  of  Mrs.  King's 
lodgings,  and  they  too  should  have  been  my  household  gods, 
from  which  my  darling,  my  cherished-in-secret  Imagination, 
the  tender  and  the  mighty,  should  never,  either  by  softness  or 
strength,  have  severed  me.  But  this  was  not  all;  the  anti- 
pathy which  had  sprung  up  between  myself  and  my  employer 
striking  deeper  root  and  spreading  denser  shade  daily,  excluded 
me  from  every  glimpse  of  the  sunshine  of  life;  and  I  began  to 
feel  like  a  plant  growing  in  humid  darkness  out  of  the  slimy 
walls  of  a  well. 

Antipathy  is  the  only  word  which  can  express  the  feeling 
Edward  Crimsworth  had  for  me — a  feeling,  in  a  great  measure, 
involuntary,  and  which  was  liable  to  be  excited  by  even  the 
.most  trifling  movement,  look,  or  word  of  mine.  My  southern 
accent  annoyed  him :  the  degree  of  education  evinced  in  my 
language  irritated  him ;  my  punctuality,  industry,  and  accu- 
racy fixed  his  dislike,  and  gave  it  the  high  flavor  and  poignant 
relish  of  envy ;  he  feared  that  I  too  should  one  day  make  a  suc- 
cessful tradesman.  Had  I  been  anything  inferior  to  him,  he 
would  not  have  hated  me  so  thoroughly,  but  I  knew  all  that  he 
knew,  and  what  was  worse,  he  suspected  that  I  kept  the  pad- 
lock of  silence  on  mental  wealth  in  which  he  was  no  sharer.  If 
he  could  have  once  placed  me  in  a  ridiculous  or  mortifying 
position,  he  would  have  forgiven  me  much ;  but  I  was  guarded 
by  three  faculties — caution,  tact,  observation;  and  prowling 
and  prying  as  was  Edward's  malignity,  it  could  never  baffle 


THE  PROFESSOR.  31 

the  lynx-eyes  of  these  my  natural  sentinels.  Day  by  day  did 
his  malice  watch  my  tact,  hoping  it  would  sleep,  and  prepared 
to  steal  snake-like  on  its  slumber ;  but  tact,  if  it  be  genuine, 
never  sleeps. 

I  had  received  my  first  quarter's  wages,  and  was  returning  to 
my  lodgings,  possessed  heart  and  soul  with  the  pleasant  feeling 
that  the  master  who  had  paid  me  grudged  every  penny  of  that 
hard-earned  pittance — (I  had  long  ceased  to  regard  Mr.  Crims- 
worth  as  my  brother — he  was  a  hard,  grinding  master;  he 
wished  to  be  an  inexorable  tyrant:  that  was  all).  Thoughts 
not  varied  but  strong  occupied  my  mind ;  two  voices  spoke 
within  me ;  again  and  again  they  uttered  the  same  monotonous 
phrases.  One  said  :  "  William,  your  life  is  intolerable."  The 
other  :  "  What  can  you  do  to  alter  it  ?"  I  walked  fast,  for  it 
was  a  cold,  frosty  night  in  January;  as  I  approached  my 
lodgings,  I  turned  from  a  general  view  of  my  affairs  to  the  par- 
ticular speculation  as  to  whether  my  fire  would  be  out ;  looking 
towards  the  window  of  my  sitting-room,  I  saw  no  cheering  red 
gleam. 

"  That  slut  of  a  servant  has  neglected  it  as  usual,"  said  I, 
"  and  I  shall  see  nothing  but  pale  ashes  if  I  go  in ;  it  is  a  fine 
starlight  night — I  will  walk  a  little  farther." 

It  was  a  fine  night,  and  the  streets  were  dry  and  even  clean 

for  X ;  there  was  a  crescent  curve  of  moonlight  to  be  seen 

by  the  parish  church  tower,  and  hundreds  of  stars  shone  keenly 
bright  in  all  quarters  of  the  sky. 

Unconsciously  I  steered  my  course  towards  the  country ;  I 
had  got  into  Grove  street,  and  began  to  feel  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  dim  trees  at  the  extremity,  round  a  suburban  house,  when 
a  person  leaning  over  the  iron  gate  of  one  of  the  small  gardens 
which  front  the  neat  dwelling-houses  in  this  street,  addressed 
me  as  I  was  hurrying  past  with  quick  stride. 

"  What  the  deuce  is  the  hurry  ?  Just  so  must  Lot  have  left 
Sodom,  when  he  expected  fire  to  pour  down  upon  it,  out  of  burn- 
ing brass  clouds." 

I  stopped  short  and  looked  towards  the  speaker.  I  smelt  the 
fragrance  and  saw  the  red  spark  of  a  cigar ;  the  dusk  outline 
of  a  man,  too,  bent  towards  me  over  the  wicket. 

"  You  see  I  am  meditating  in  the  field  at  eventide,"  continued 


32  THE  PROFESSOR. 

this  shade.  "  God  knows  it's  cool  work !  especially  as  instead 
of  Eebecca  on  a  camel's  hump,  with"  bracelets  on  her  arms  and 
a  ring  in  her  nose,  Fate  sends  me  only  a  counting-house  clerk, 
in  a  gray  tweed  wrapper." 

The  voice  was  familiar  to  me — its  second  utterance  enabled 
me  to  seize  the  speaker's  identity. 

"  Mr.  Hunsden !  good-evening." 

"  Good-evening,  indeed !  yes,  but  you  would  have  passed 
me  without  recognition  if  I  had  not  been  so  civil  as  to  speak 
first." 

"  I  did  not  know  you." 

"  A  famous  excuse  !  You  ought  to  have  known  me ;  I  knew 
you,  though  you  were  going  ahead  like  a  steam-engine.  Are 
the  police  after  you  ?" 

"  It  wouldn't  be  worth  their  while ;  I'm  not  of  consequence 
enough  to  attract  them." 

"  Alas,  poor  shepherd !  Alack  and  well-a-day !  What  a 
theme  for  regret,  and  how  down  in  the  mouth  you  must  be, 
judging  from  the  sound  of  your  voice!  But  since  you're  not 
running  from  the  police,  from  whom  are  you  running? — the 
devil?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  going  post  to  him." 

"  That  is  well — you're  just  in  luck  :  this  is  Tuesday  evening; 
there  are  scores  of  market  gigs  and  carts  returning  to  Dinneford 
to-night ;  and  he,  or  some  of  his,  have  a  seat  in  all  regularly ; 
so,  if  you'll  step  in  and  sit  half-an-hour  in  my  bachelor's  parlor, 
you  may  catch  him  as  he  passes  without  much  trouble.  I  think, 
though,  you'd  better  let  him  alone  to-night,  he'll  have  so  many 
customers  to  serve ;  Tuesday  is  his  busy  day  in  X and  Din- 
neford ;  come  in,  at  all  events." 

He  swung  the  wicket  open  as  he  spoke. 

"  Do  you  really  wish  me  to  go  in  ?"  I  asked. 

"  As  you  please — I'm  alone ;  your  company  for  an  hour  or 
two  would  be  agreeable  to  me ;  but,  if  you  don't  choose  to 
favor  me  so  far,  I'll  not  press  the  point.  I  hate  to  bore  any 
one." 

It  suited  me  to  accept  the  invitation  as  it  suited  Hunsden 
to  give  it.  I  passed  through  the  gate,  and  followed  him  to 
the  front  door,  which  he  opened ;  thence  we  traversed  a  pas- 


THE  PROFESSOR.  33 

sage,  and  entered  his  parlor ;  the  door  being  shut,  he  pointed 
me  to  an  arm-chair  by  the  hearth ;  I  sat  down,  and  glanced 
round  me. 

It  was  a  comfortable  room,  at  once  snug  and  handsome;  the 

bright  grate  was  filled  with  a  genuine shire  fire,  red,  clear, 

and  generous,  no  penurious  South-of-England  embers  heaped  in 
the  corner  of  a  grate.  On  the  table  a  shaded  lamp  diffused 
around  a  soft,  pleasant,  and  equal  light ;  the  furniture  was 
almost  luxurious  for  a  young  bachelor,  comprising  a  couch  and 
two  very  easy  chairs ;  bookshelves  filled  the  recesses  on  each 
side  of  the  mantelpiece ;  they  were  well  furnished,  and  arranged 
with  perfect  order.  The  neatness  of  the  room  suited  my  taste ; 
I  hate  irregular  and  slovenly  habits.  From  what  I  saw  I  con- 
cluded that  Hunsden's  ideas  on  that  point  corresponded  with  my 
own.  While  he  removed  from  the  centre  table  to  the  sideboard 
a  few  pamphlets  and  periodicals,  I  ran  my  eye  along  the  shelves 
of  the  bookcase  nearest  me.  French  and  German  works  pre- 
dominated, the  old  French  dramatists,  sundry  modern  authors, 
Thiers,  Villemain,  Paul  de  Kock,  George  Sand,  Eugene  Sue ; 
in  German — Goethe,  Schiller,  Zschokke,  Jean  Paul  Richter ; 
in  English  there  were  works  on  political  economy.  I  exam- 
ined no  further,  for  Mr.  Hunsden  himself  recalled  my  atten- 
tion. 

"  You  must  have  something,"  said  he,  "  for  you  ought  to  feel 
disposed  for  refreshment  after  walking  nobody  knows  how  far 
on  such  a  Canadian  night  as  this  ;  but  it  shall  not  be  brandy- 
and-water,  and  it  shall  not  be  a  bottle  of  port,  nor  ditto  of 
sherry.  I  keep  no  such  poison.  I  have  Rheinwein  for  my  own 
drinking,  and  you  may  choose  between  that  and  coffee." 

Here,  again,  Hunsden  suited  me.  If  there  was  one  generally- 
received  practice  I  abhorred  more  than  another,  it  was  the 
habitual  imbibing  of  spirits  and  strong  wines.  I  had,  however, 
no  fancy  for  his  acid  German  nectar;  but  I  liked  coffee,  so  I  re- 
sponded, "  Give  me  some  coffee,  Mr.  Hunsden." 

I  perceived  that  my  answer  pleased  him  ;  he  had  doubtless 
expected  to  see  a  chilling  effect  produced  by  his  steady 
announcement  that  he  would  give  me  neither  wine  nor  spirits ; 
he  just  shot  one  searching  glance  at  my  face  to  ascertain 
whether  my  cordiality  was  genuine  or  a  mere  feint  of  polite- 


34  THE  PROFESSOR. 

ness.  I  smiled,  because  I  quite  understood  him  ;  and  while  I 
honored  his  conscientious  firmness,  I  was  amused  at  his  mis- 
trust. He  seemed  satisfied,  rang  the  bell,  and  ordered  coffee, 
which  was  presently  brought ;  for  himself,  a  bunch  of  grapes 
and  half  a  pint  of  something  sour  sufficed.  My  coffee  was  ex- 
cellent ;  I  told  him  so,  and  expressed  the  shuddering  pity  with 
which  his  anchorite  fare  inspired  me.  He  did  not  answer,  and 
I  scarcely  think  heard  my  remark.  At  that  moment  one  of 
those  momentary  eclipses  I  before  alluded  to  had  come  over  his 
face,  extinguishing  his  smile,  and  replacing  by  an  abstracted 
and  alienated  look  the  customarily  shrewd,  bantering  glance  of 
his  eye.  I  employed  the  interval  of  silence  in  a  rapid  scrutiny 
of  his  physiognomy.  I  had  never  observed  him  closely  before  ; 
and  as  my  sight  is  very  short,  I  had  gathered  only  a  vague, 
general  idea  of  his  appearance ;  I  was  surprised  now,  on  exami- 
nation, to  perceive  how  small,  and  even  feminine,  were  his 
lineaments.  His  tall  figure,  long  and  dark  locks,  his  voice  and 
general  bearing,  had  impressed  me  with  the  notion  of  something 
powerful  and  massive  ;  not  at  all :  my  own  features  were  cast  in 
a  harsher  and  squarer  mould  than  his.  I  discerned  that  there 
would  be  contrasts  between  his  inward  and  outward  man  ;  con- 
tentions, too,  for  I  suspected  his  soul  had  more  of  will  and 
ambition  than  his  body  had  of  fibre  and  muscle.  Perhaps,  in 
these  incompatibilities  of  the  "  physique"  with  the  "  morale"  lay 
the  secret  of  that  fitful  gloom  ;  he  would  but  could  not,  and  the 
athletic  mind  scowled  scorn  on  its  more  fragile  companion.  As 
to  his  good  looks,  I  should  have  liked  to  have  a  woman's 
opinion  on  that  subject ;  it  seemed  to  me  that  his  face  might  pro- 
duce the  same  effect  on  a  lady  that  a  very  piquant  and  interest- 
ing, though  scarcely  pretty,  female  face  would  on  a  man.  I  have 
mentioned  his  dark  locks — they  were  brushed  sideways  above  a 
white  and  sufficiently  expansive  forehead ;  his  cheek  had  a 
rather  hectic  freshness ;  his  features  might  have  done  well  on 
canvas,  but  indifferently  in  marble  :  they  were  plastic ;  charac- 
ter had  set  a  stamp  upon  each ;  expression  re-cast  them  at  her 
pleasure,  and  strange  metamorphoses  she  wrought,  giving  him 
now  the  mien  of  a  morose  bull,  and  anon  that  of  an  arch  and 
mischievous  girl ;  more  frequently  the  two  semblances  were 
blent,  and  a  queer,  composite  countenance  they  made. 


THE  PROFESSOR.  35 

Starting  from  his  silent  fit,  he  began : — "  William !  what  a 
fool  you  are  to  live  in  those  dismal  lodgings  of  Mrs.  King's, 
when  you  might  take  rooms  here  in  Grove-street,  and  have  a 
garden  like  me !" 

"  I  should  be  too  far  from  the  mill." 

"  What  of  that  ?  It  would  do  you  good  to  walk  there  and 
back  two  or  three  times  a  day ;  besides,  you  are  such  a  fossil 
that  you  never  wish  to  see  a  flower  or  a  green  leaf." 

"  I  am  no  fossil." 

"  What  are  you,  then  ?  You  sit  at  that  desk  in  Crimsworth's 
counting-house  day  by  day  and  week  by  week,  scraping  with  a 
pen  on  paper,  just  like  an  automaton.  You  never  get  up ;  you 
never  say  you  are  tired ;  you  never  ask  for  a  holiday ;  you 
never  take  change  or  relaxation ;  you  give  way  to  no  excess  of 
an  evening  ;  you  neither  keep  wild  company  nor  indulge  in 
strong  drink." 

"  Do  you,  Mr.  Hunsden  ?" 

"  Don't  think  to  pose  me  with  short  questions ;  your  case  and 
mine  are  diametrically  different,  and  it  is  nonsense  attempting 
to  draw  a  parallel.  I  say  that  when  a  man  endures  patiently 
what  ought  to  be  unendurable,  he  is  a  fossil." 

"  Whence  do  you  acquire  the  knowledge  of  my  patience?" 

"  Why,  man,  do  you  suppose  you  are  a  mystery  ?  The  other 
night  you  seemed  surprised  at  my  knowing  to  what  family  you 
belonged  ;  now  you  find  subject  for  wonderment  in  my  calling 
you  patient.  What  do  you  think  I  do  with  my  eyes  and  ears  ? 
I've  been  in  your  counting-house  more  than  once  when  Crims- 
worth  has  treated  you  like  a  dog ;  called  for  a  book,  for  instance, 
and  when  you  gave  him  the  wrong  one,  or  what  he  chose  to 
consider  the  wrong  one,  flung  it  back  almost  in  your  face; 
desired  you  to  shut  or  open  the  door  as  if  you  had  been  his 
flunkey ;  to  say  nothing  of  your  position  at  the  party  about  a 
month  ago,  where  you  had  neither  place  nor  partner,  but 
hovered  about  like  a  poor,  shabby  hanger-on ;  and  how  patient 
you  were  under  each  and  all  of  these  circumstances !" 

"  Well,  Mr.  Hunsden,  what  then  ?" 

"  I  can  hardly  tell  you  what  then ;  the  conclusion  to  be 
drawn  as  to  your  character  depends  upon  the  nature  of  the 
motives  which  guide  your  conduct ;  if  you  are  patient  because 


36  THE  PROFESSOR. 

you  expect  to  make  something  eventually  out  of  Crimsworth, 
notwithstanding  his  tyranny,  or  perhaps  by  means  of  it,  you 
are  what  the  world  calls  an  interested  and  mercenary,  but 
maybe  a  very  wise  fellow ;  if  you  are  patient  because  you  think 
it  a  duty  to  meet  insult  with  submission,  you  are  an  essential 
sap,  and  in  no  shape  the  man  for  my  money ;  if  you  are  patient 
because  your  nature  is  phlegmatic,  flat,  inexcitable,  and  that 
you  cannot  get  up  to  the  pitch  of  resistance,  why,  God  made 
you  to  be  crushed ;  and  lie  down  by  all  means,  and  lie  flat,  and 
let  Juggernaut  ride  well  over  you." 

Mr.  Hunsden's  eloquence  was  not,  it  will  be  perceived,  of  the 
smooth  and  oily  order.  As  he  spoke,  he  pleased  me  ill.  I 
seemed  to  recognize  in  him  one  of  those  characters  who,  sensitive 
enough  themselves,  are  selfishly  relentless  towards  the  sensitive- 
ness of  others.  Moreover,  though  he  was  neither  like  Crims- 
worth nor  Lord  Tynedale,  yet  he  was  acrid,  and,  I  suspected, 
overbearing  in  his  way ;  there  was  a  tone  of  despotism  in  the 
urgency  of  the  very  reproaches  by  which  he  aimed  at  goading 
the  oppressed  into  rebellion  against  the  oppressor.  Looking  at 
him  still  more  fixedly  than  I  had  yet  done,  I  saw  written  in  his 
eye  and  mien  a  resolution  to  arrogate  to  himself  a  freedom  so 
unlimited,  that  it  might  often  trench  on  the  just  liberty  of  his 
neighbors.  I  rapidly  ran  over  these  thoughts,  and  then  I 
laughed  a  low  and  involuntary  laugh,  moved  thereto  by  a 
slight  inward  revelation  of  the  inconsistency  of  man.  It  was  as 
I  thought :  Hunsden  had  expected  me  to  take  with,  calm  his 
incorrect  and  offensive  surmises,  his  bitter  and  haughty  taunts  ; 
and  himself  was  chafed  by  a  laugh  scarce  louder  than  a 
whisper. 

His  brow  darkened,  his  thin  nostril  dilated  a  little. 

"  Yes,"  he  began,  "  I  told  you  that  you  were  an  aristocrat, 
and  who  but  an  aristocrat  would  laugh  such  a  laugh  as  that, 
and  look  such  a  look?  A  laugh  frigidly  jeering.;  a  look  lazily 
mutinous ;  a  gentlemanlike  irony,  patrician  resentment.  What 
a  nobleman  you  would  have  made,  William  Crimsworth !  You 
are  cut  out  for  one ;  pity  Fortune  has  baulked  Nature !  Look 
at  the  features,  figure,  even  to  the  hands— distinction  all  over — 
ugly  distinction !  Now,  if  you'd  only  an  estate  and  a  man- 
sion, and  a  park,  and  a  title,  how  you  could  play  the  exclusive, 


THE  PROFESSOR.  37 

maintain  the  rights  of  your  class,  train  your  tenantry  in  habits 
of  respect  to  the  peerage,  oppose  at  every  step  the  advancing 
power  of  the  people,  support  your  rotten  order,  and  be  ready 
for  its  sake  to  wade  knee-deep  in  churls'  blood ;  as  it  is,  you've 
no  power ;  you  can  do  nothing ;  you're  wrecked  and  stranded  on 
the  shores  of  commerce;  forced  into  collision  with  practical 
men,  with  whom  you  cannot  cope,  for  you'll  never  be  a  tradesman." 

The  first  part  of  Hunsden's  speech  moved  me  not  at  all,  or, 
if  it  did,  it  was  only  to  wonder  at  the  perversion  into  which 
prejudice  had  twisted  his  judgment  of  my  character;  the  con- 
cluding sentence,  however,  not  only  moved,  but  shook  me ;  the 
blow  it  gave  was  a  severe  one,  because  Truth  wielded  the 
weapon.  If  I  smiled  now,  it  was  only  in  disdain  of  myself. 

Hunsden  saw  his  advantage ;  he  followed  it  up. 

"  You'll  make  nothing  by  trade,"  continued  he ;  "  nothing 
more  than  the  crust  of  dry  bread  and  the  draught  of  fair  water 
on  which  you  now  live ;  your  only  chance  of  getting  a  compe- 
tency lies  in  marrying  a  rich  widow,  or  running  away  with  an 
heiress." 

"  I  leave  such  shifts  to  be  put  in  practice  by  those  who  devise 
them,"  said  I,  rising. 

"  And  even  that  is  hopeless,"  he  went  on,  coolly.  "  What 
widow  would  have  you  ?  Much  less,  what  heiress  ?  You're  not 
bold  and  venturesome  enough  for  the  one,  nor  handsome  and 
fascinating  enough  for  the  other.  You  think  perhaps  you  look 
intelligent  and  polished ;  carry  your  intellect  and  refinement  to 
market,  and  tell  me  in  a  private  note  what  price  is  bid  for 
them." 

Mr.  Hunsden  had  taken  his  tone  for  the  night ;  the  string  he 
struck  was  out  of  tune — he  could  finger  no  other.  Averse  to  dis- 
cord, of  which  I  had  enough  every  day  and  all  day  long,  I  con- 
cluded at  last  that  silence  and  solitude  were  preferable  to  jarring 
converse  ;  I  bade  him  good-night. 

"  What !  Are  you  going,  lad  ?  Well,  good-night :  you'll 
find  the  door."  And  he  sat  still  in  front  of  the  fire,  while  I  left 
the  room  and  the  house.  I  had  got  a  good  way  on  my  return 
to  my  lodgings  before  I  found  out  that  I  was  walking  very  fast, 
and  breathing  very  hard,  and  that  my  nails  were  almost  stuck 
into  the  palms  of  my  clenched  hands,  and  that  my  teeth  were 


38  THE  PROFESSOR. 

set  fast ;  on  making  this  discovery,  I  relaxed  both  my  pace,  fists, 
and  jaws,  but  I  could  not  so  soon  cause  the  regrets  rushing 
rapidly  though  my  mind  to  slacken  their  tide.  Why  did  I 
make  myself  a  tradesman  ?  Why  did  I  enter  Hunsden's  house 
this  evening?  Why  at  dawn  to-morrow  must  I  repair  to 
Crimsworth's  mill?  All  that  night  did  I  ask  myself  these 
questions,  and  all  that  night  fiercely  demanded  of  my  soul  an 
answer.  I  got  no  sleep ;  my  head  burned,  my  feet  froze ;  at 
last  the  factory  bells  rang,  and  I  sprang  from  my  bed  with 
other  slaves. 


CHAPTER   V. 

is  a  climax  to  everything,  to  every  state  of  feeling 
_J_  as  well  as  to  every  position  in  life.  I  turned  this  truism 
over  in  my  mind  as,  in  the  frosty  dawn  of  a  January  morning, 
I  hurried  down  the  steep  and  now  icy  street  which  descended 
from  Mrs.  King's  to  the  Close.  The  factory  workpeople  had 
preceded  me  by  nearly  an  hour,  and  the  mill  was  all  lighted  up 
and  in  full  operation  when  I  reached  it.  I  repaired  to  my  post 
in  the  counting-house  as  usual ;  the  fire  there,  but  just  lit,  as 
yet  only  smoked ;  Steighton  was  not  yet  arrived.  I  shut  the 
door  and  sat  down  at  the  desk ;  my  hands,  recently  washed  in 
half-frozen  water,  were  still  numb ;  I  could  not  write  till  they 
had  regained  vitality,  so  I  went  on  thinking,  and  still  the  theme 
of  my  thoughts  was  the  "  climax."  Self-dissatisfaction  troubled 
exceedingly  the  current  of  my  meditations. 

"  Come,  William  Crimsworth,"  said  my  conscience,  or  Avhat- 
ever  it  is  that  within  ourselves  takes  ourselves  to  task — "  Come, 
get  a  clear  notion  of  what  you  would  have,  or  what  you  would 
not  have.  You  talk  of  a  climax ;  pray  has  your  endurance 
reached  its  climax  ?  It  is  not  four  months  old.  What  a  fine 
resolute  fellow  you  imagined  yourself  to  be  when  you  told  Tyne- 
dale  you  would  tread  in  your  father's  steps,  and  a  pretty  tread- 
ing you  are  likely  to  make  of  it!  How  well  you  like  X ! 


THE  PROFESSOR.  39 

Just  at  this  moment  how  redolent  of  pleasant  associations  are 
its  streets,  its  shops,  its  warehouses,  its  factories !  How  the 
prospect  of  this  day  cheers  you !  Letter-copying  till  noon,  soli- 
tary dinner  at  your  lodgings,  letter-copying  till  evening,  solitude; 
for  you  neither  find  pleasure  in  Brown's,  nor  Smith's,  nor 
Nicholls',  nor  Eccles'  company ;  and  as  to  Hunsden,  you  fancied 
there  was  pleasure  to  be  derived  from  his  society — he  !  he !  how 
did  you  like  the  taste  you  had  of  him  last  night?  was  it  sweet? 
Yet  he  is  a  talented,  an  original-minded  man,  and  even  he  does 
not  like  you  ;  your  self-respect  defies  you  to  like  him ;  he  has 
always  seen  you  to  disadvantage ;  he  always  will  see  you  to 
disadvantage ;  your  positions  are  unequal,  and  were  they  on  the 
same  level,  your  minds  could  not  assimilate ;  never  hope,  then, 
to  gather  the  honey  of  friendship  out  of  that  thorn-guarded 
plant.  Hollo,  Crimsworth  !  where  are  your  thoughts  tending  ? 
You  leave  the  recollection  of  Hunsden  as  a  bee  would  a  rock, 
as  a  bird  a  desert ;  and  your  aspirations  spread  eager  wings 
towards  a  land  of  visions  where,  now  in  advancing  daylight — 

in  X daylight — you  dare  to  dream  of  congeniality,  repose, 

union.  Those  three  you  will  never  meet  in  this  world ;  they 
are  angels.  The  souls  of  just  men  made  perfect  may  en- 
counter them  in  heaven,  but  your  soul  will  never  be  made 
perfect.  Eight  o'clock  strikes  !  your  hands  are  thawed,  get  to 
work !" 

"Work?  why  should  I  work?"  said  I,  sullenly;  "I  cannot 
please  though  I  toil  like  a  slave."  "  Work,  work  !"  reiterated 
the  inward  voice.  "  I  may  work,  it  will  do  no  good,"  I 
groAvled  ;  but  nevertheless  I  drew  out  a  packet  of  letters  and 
commenced  my  task — task  thankless  and  bitter  as  that  of  the 
Israelite  crawling  over  the  sun-baked  fields  of  Egypt  in  search 
of  straw  and  stubble  wherewith  to  accomplish  his  tale  of 
bricks. 

About  ten  o'clock  I  heard  Mr.  Crimsworth's  gig  turn  into  tho 
yard,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  he  entered  the  counting-room. 
It  was  his  custom  to  glance  his  eye  at  Steighton  and  myself, 
to  hang  up  his  mackintosh,  stand  a  minute  with  his  back  to  the 
fire,  and  then  walk  out.  To-day  he  did  not  deviate  from  his 
usual  habits  ;  the  only  difference  was  that  when  he  looked  at 
me,  his  brow,  instead  of  being  merely  hard,  was  surly ;  his  eye, 


40  THE  PROFESSOR. 

instead  of  being  cold,  was  fierce.  He  studied  me  a  minute  or 
two  longer  than  usual,  but  went  out  in  silence. 

Twelve  o'clock  arrived ;  the  bell  rang  for  a  suspension  oi 
labor ;  the  workpeople  went  off  to  their  dinners ;  Steighton,  too, 
departed,  desiring  me  to  lock  the  counting-house  door,  and  take 
the  key  Avith  me.  I  was  tying  up  a  bundle  of  papers,  -and 
putting  them  in  their  place,  preparatory  to  closing  my  desk, 
when  Crimsworth  reappeared  at  the  door,  and  entering,  closed  it 
behind  him. 

"  You'll  stay  here  a  minute,"  said  he,  in  a  deep,  brutal  voice, 
while  his  nostrils  distended  and  his  eye  shot  a  spark  of  sinister 
fire. 

Alone  with  Edward  I  remembered  our  relationship,  and 
remembering  that,  forgot  the  difference  of  position  ;  I  put  away 
deference  and  careful  forms  of  speech ;  I  answered  with  simple 
brevity. 

"  It  is  time  to  go  home,"  I  said,  turning  the  key  in  my  desk. 

"You'll  stay  here!"  he  reiterated.  "And  take  your  hand  off 
that  key  !  leave  it  in  the  lock !" 

"  Why  ?"  asked  I.  "  What  cause  is  there  for  changing  my 
usual  plans  ?" 

"  Do  as  I  order,"  was  the  answer,  "  and  no  questions !     You 

are  my  servant ;  obey  me !     What  have  you  been  about ?" 

He  was  going  on  in  the  same  breath,  when  an  abrupt  pause 
announced  that  rage  had  for  the  moment  got  the  better  of 
articulation. 

"  You  may  look,  if  you  wish  to  know,"  I  replied.  "There  is 
the  open  desk,  there  are  the  papers." 

"  Confound  your  insolence !     What  have  you  been  about  ?" 

"  Your  work,  and  have  done  it  well." 

"  Hypocrite  and  twaddler.  Smooth-faced,  snivelling  grease- 
horn!"  (This  last  term  is,  I  believe,  purely  shire,  and 

alludes  to  the  horn  of  black,  rancid  whale-oil  usually  to  be 
seen  suspended  to  cart-wheels,  and  employed  for  greasing  the 
same.) 

"  Come,  Edward  Crimsworth,  enough  of  this.  It  is  time  you 
and  I  wound  up  accounts.  I  have  now  given  your  service  three 
months'  trial,  and  I  find  it  the  most  nauseous  slavery  under  the 
sun.  Seek  another  clerk.  I  stay  no  longer." 


THE  PROFESSOR.  41 

"  "What !  do  you  dare  to  give  me  notice  ?  Stop  at  least  for 
your  wages."  He  took  down  the  heavy  gig  whip  hanging 
beside  his  mackintosh. 

I  permitted  myself  to  laugh  with  a  degree  of  scorn  I  took  no 
pains  to  temper  or  hide.  His  fury  boiled  up,  and  when  he  had 
sworn  half-a-dozen  vulgar,  impious  oaths,  without,  however, 
venturing  to  lift  the  whip,  he  continued : — "  I've  found  you  out 
and  know  you  thoroughly,  you  mean,  whining  lickspittle! 

What  have  you  been  saying  all  over  X about  me  ?  Answer 

me  that !" 

"  You  ?  I  have  neither  inclination  nor  temptation  to  talk 
about  you." 

"  You  lie !  It  is  your  practice  to  talk  about  me ;  it  is  your 
constant  habit  to  make  public  complaint  of  the  treatment  you 
receive  at  my  hands.  You  have  gone  and  told  it  far  and  near 
that  I  give  you  low  wages  and  knock  you  about  like  a  dog.  I 
wish  you  were  a  dog !  I'd  set  to  this  minute,  and  never  stir 
from  the  spot  till  I'd  cut  every  strip  of  flesh  from  your  bones 
with  this  whip." 

He  flourished  his  tool.  The  end  of  the  lash  just  touched  my 
forehead.  A  warm  excited  thrill  ran  through  my  veins,  my 
blood  seemed  to  give  a  bound,  and  then  raced  fast  and  hot  along 
its  channels.  I  got  up  nimbly,  came  round  to  where  he  stood, 
and  faced  him. 

"  Down  with  your  whip  !"  said  I,  "  and  explain  this  instant 
what  you  mean." 

"  Sirrah  !  to  whom  are  you  speaking  ?" 

"  To  you.  There  is  no  one  else  present,  I  think.  You  say 
I  have  been  calumniating  you — complaining  of  your  low  wages 
and  bad  treatment.  Give  your  grounds  for  these  assertions." 

Crimsworth  had  no  dignity,  and  when  I  sternly  demanded  an 
explanation,  he  gave  one  in  a  loud,  scolding  voice. 

"  Grounds !  you  shall  have  them  ;  and  turn  to  the  light,  that 
I  may  see  your  brazen  face  blush  black,  when  you  hear  your- 
self proved  to  be  a  liar  and  a  hypocrite.  At  a  public  meeting 
in  the  Town-hall  yesterday,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  my- 
self insulted  by  the  speaker  opposed  to  me  in  the  question  under 
discussion,  by  allusions  to  my  private  affairs ;  by  cant  about 
monsters  without  natural  affection,  family  despots,  and  such 


42  THE  PROFESSOR. 

trash ;  and  when  I  rose  to  answer,  I  was  met  by  a  shout  from 
the  filthy  mob,  where  the  mention  of  your  name  enabled  me  at 
once  to  detect  the  quarter  in  which  this  base  attack  had  origin- 
ated. When  I  looked  round,  I  saw  that  treacherous  villain 
Hunsden,  acting  as  fugleman.  I  detected  you  in  close  conver- 
sation with  Hunsden  at  my  house  a  month  ago,  and  I  know 
that  you  were  at  Hunsden's  rooms  last  night. '  Deny  it  if  you 
dare." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  not  deny  it!  And  if  Hunsden  hounded  on  the 
people  to  hiss  you,  he  did  quite  right.  You  deserve  popular 
execration :  for  a  worse  man,  a  harder  master,  a  more  brutal 
brother  than  you  are,  has  seldom  existed." 

"  Sirrah  !  sirrah  !"  reiterated  Crimsworth ;  and  to  complete 
his  apostrophe,  he  cracked  the  whip  straight  over  my  head. 

A  minute  sufficed  to  wrest  it  from  him,  break  it  in  two  pieces 
and  throw  it  under  the  grate.  He  made  a  headlong  rush  at  me, 
which  I  evaded,  and  said — "  Touch  me,  and  I'll  have  you  up 
before  the  nearest  magistrate." 

Men  like  Crimsworth,  if  firmly  and  calmly  resisted,  always 
abate  something  of  their  exorbitant  insolence ;  he  had  no  mind 
to  be  brought  before  a  magistrate,  and  I  suppose  he  saw  I  meant 
what  I  said.  After  an  odd  and  long  stare  at  me,  at  once  bull- 
like  and  amazed,  he  seemed  to  bethink  himself  that,  after  all, 
his  money  gave  him  sufficient  superiority  over  a  beggar  like  me, 
and  that  he  had  in  his  hands  a  surer  and  more  dignified  mode 
of  revenge  than  the  somewhat  hazardous  one  of  personal  chas- 
tisement. 

"  Take  your  hat,"  said  he.  "  Take  what  belongs  to  you,  and 
go  out  that  door ;  get  away  to  your  parish,  you  pauper  ;  beg, 
steal,  starve,  get  transported,  do  what  you  like ;  but  at  your 
peril  venture  again  into  my  sight?  If  ever  I  hear  of  your  set- 
ting foot  on  an  inch  of  ground  belonging  to  me,  I'll  hire  a  man 
to  cane  you." 

"  It  is  not  likely  you'll  have  the  chance ;  once  off  your  pre- 
mises, what  temptation  can  I  have  to  return  to  them  ?  I  leave 
a  prison,  I  leave  a  tyrant ;  I  leave  what  is  worse  than  the  worst 
that  can  lie  before  m«,  so  no  fear  of  my  coming  back." 

"  Go,  or  I'll  make  you  !"  exclaimed  Crimsworth. 

I  walked  deliberately  to  my  desk,  took  out  such  of  its  con- 


THE  PROFESSOR.  43 

tents  as  were  my  own  property,  put  them  in  my  pocket,  locked 
the  desk,  and  placed  the  key  on  the  top. 

"  What  are  you  abstracting  from  that  desk  ?"  demanded  the 
mill-owner.  "  Leave  all  behind  in  its  place,  or  I'll  send  for  a 
policeman  to  search  you." 

"  Look  sharp  about  it,  then,"  said  I,  and  I  took  down  my 
hat,  drew  on  my  gloves,  and  walked  leisurely  out  of  the  count- 
ing-house— walked  out  of  it  to  enter  it  no  more. 

I  recollect  that  when  the  mill-bell  rang  the  dinner-hour,  be- 
fore Mr.  Crimsworth  entered,  and  the  scene  above-related  took 
place,  I  had  had  rather  a  sharp  appetite,  and  had  been  waiting 
somewhat  impatiently  to  hear  the  signal  of  feeding-time.  I  for- 
got it  now,  however  ;  the  images  of  potatoes  and  roast-mutton 
were  effaced  from  my  mind  by  the  stir  and  tumult  which  the 
transaction  of  the  last  half  hour  had  there  excited.  I  only 
thought  of  walking,  that  the  action  of  my  muscles  might  har- 
monize with  the  action  of  my  nerves ;  and  walk  I  did,  fast  and 
far.  How  could  I  do  otherwise  ?  A  load  was  lifted  off  my 
heart ;  I  felt  light  and  liberated.  I  had  got  away  from  Bigben 
Close  without  a  breach  of  resolution — without  injury  to  my 
self-respect.  I  had  not  forced  circumstances ;  circumstances 
had  freed  me.  Life  was  again  open  to  me ;  no  longer  was  its 
horizon  limited  by  the  high  black  wall  surrounding  Crims- 
worth's  mill.  Two  hours  had  elapsed  before  my  sensations  had 
so  far  subsided  as  to  leave  me  calm  enough  to  remark  for  what 
wider  and  clearer  boundaries  I  had  exchanged  that  sooty 
girdle.  When  I  did  look  up,  lo  !  straight  before  me  lay  Grove- 
town,  a  village  of  villas  about  five  miles  out  of  X .  The 

short  winter  day,  as  I  perceived  from  the  far-declined  sun,  was 
already  approaching  its  close ;  a  chill  frost-mist  was  rising  from 

the  river  on  which  X stands,  and  along  whose  banks  the 

road  I  had  taken  lay.  It  dimmed  the  earth,  but  did  not  obscure 
the  clear  icy  blue  of  the  January  sky.  There  was  a  great  still- 
ness near  and  far  ;  the  time  of  the  day  favored  tranquillity,  as 
the  people  were  all  employed  within-doors,  the  hour  of  evening 
release  from  the  factories  not  being  yet  arrived.  A  sound  of 
full-flowing  water  alone  pervaded  the  air,  for  the  river  was  deep 
and  abundant,  swelled  by  the  melting  of  a  late  snow.  I  stood  a 
while,  leaning  over  the  wall,  and  looking  down  at  the  current ; 


44  THE  PROFESSOR. 

I  watched  the  rapid  rush  of  its  waves.  I  desired  memory  to 
take  a  clear  and  permanent  impression  of  the  scene,  and  treas- 
ure it  for  future  years.  Grovetown  church  clock  struck  four  ; 
looking  up,  I  beheld  the  last  of  that  day's  sun,  glinting  red 
through  the  leafless  boughs  of  some  very  old  oak  trees  sur- 
rounding the  church, — its  light  colored  and  characterized  the 
picture  as  I  wished.  I  paused  yet  a  moment,  till  the  sweet, 
slow  sound  of  the  bell  had  quite  died  out  of  the  air ;  then,  ear, 
eye,  and  feeling  satisfied,  I  quitted  the  wall,  and  once  more 
turned  my  face  towards  X . 


CHAPTER   VI. 

IRE-ENTERED  the  town  a  hungry  man ;  the  dinner  I  had 
forgotten  recurred  seductively  to  my  recollection ;  and  it 
was  with  a  quick  step  and  sharp  appetite  I  ascended  the  narrow 
street  leading  to  my  lodgings.  It  was  dark  when  I  opened  the 
front  door  and  walked  into  the  house.  I  wondered  how  my  fire 
would  be ;  the  night  was  cold,  and  I  shuddered  at  the  prospect 
of  a  grate  full  of  sparkless  cinders.  To  my  joyful  surprise,  I 
found,  on  entering  my  sitting-room,  a  good  fire  and  a  clean 
hearth.  I  had  hardly  noticed  this  phenomenon,  when  I  became 
aware  of  another  subject  for  wonderment ;  the  chair  I  usually 
occupied  near  the  hearth  was  already  filled ;  a  person  sat  there 
with  his  arms  folded  on  his  chest,  and  his  legs  stretched  out  on 
the  rug.  Shortsighted  as  I  am,  doubtful  as  was  the  gleam  of 
the  firelight,  a  moment's  examination  enabled  me  to  recognize 
in  this  person  my  acquaintance  Mr.  Hunsden.  I  could  not  of 
course  be  much  pleased  to  see  him,  considering  the  manner  in 
which  I  had  parted  from  him  the  night  before,  and  as  I  walked 
to  the  hearth,  stirred  the  fire,  and  said  coolly,  "  Good-evening," 
my  demeanor  evinced  as  little  cordiality  as  I  felt ;  yet  I  won- 
dered in  my  own  mind  what  had  brought  him  there ;  and  I 
wondered,  also,  what  motives  had  induced  him  to  interfere  so 


THE  PROFESSOR.  45 

actively  between  me  and  Edward  :  it  was  to  him,  it  appeared, 
that  I  owed  my  welcome  dismissal ;  still  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  ask  him  questions,  to  show  any  eagerness  or  curiosity ; 
if  he  chose  to  explain,  he  might,  but  the  explanation  should  be 
a  perfectly  voluntary  one  on  his  part ;  I  thought  he  was  enter- 
ing upon  it. 

"  You  owe  me  a  debt  of  gratitude,"  were  his  first  words. 
"Do  I?"  said  I.     "I  hope  it  is  not  a  large  one,  for  I  am' 
much  too  poor  to  charge  myself  with  heavy  liabilities  of  any 
kind." 

"  Then  declare  yourself  bankrupt  at  once,  for  this  liability  is 
a  ton  weight  at  least.  When  I  came  in  I  found  your  fire  out, 
and  I  had  it  lit  again,  and  made  that  sulky  drab  of  a  servant 
stay  and  blow  at  it  with  the  bellows  till  it  had  burnt  up  pro- 
perly ;  now  say,  '  Thank  you  !'  " 

"  Not  till  I  have  had  something  to  eat ;  I  can  thank  nobody 
while  I  am  so  famished." 

I  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  tea  and  some  cold  meat. 
"Cold  meat?"  exclaimed  Hunsden,  as  the  servant  closed  the 
door ;  "  what  a  glutton  you  are,  man !     Meat  with  tea ;  you'll 
die  of  eating  too  much." 

"  No,  Mr.  Hunsden,  I  shall  not."  I  felt  a  necessity  for  con- 
tradicting him  ;  I  was  irritated  with  hunger,  irritated  at  seeing 
him  there,  and  irritated  at  the  continued  roughness  of  his 
manner. 

"  It  is  over-eating  that  makes  you  so  ill-tempered,"  said  he. 
"  How  do  you  know  ?"  I  demanded.     "  It  is  like  you  to  give 
a  pragmatical  opinion  without  being  acquainted  with  any  of  the 
circumstances  of  the  case ;  I  have  had  no  dinner." 

What  I  said  was  petulant  and  snappish  enough,  and  Huns- 
den only  replied  by  looking  in  my  face  and  laughing. 

"  Poor  thing  !"  he  whined,  after  a  pause.  "  It  has  had  no 
dinner,  has  it  ?  What !  I  suppose  its  master  would  not  let  it 
come  home.  Did  Crimsworth  order  you  to  fast  by  way  of 
punishment,  William  ?" 

"  No,  Mr.  Hunsden."  Fortunately  at  this  sulky  juncture,  tea 
was  brought  in,  and  I  fell  to  upon  some  bread  and  butter  and 
cold  beef  directly.  Having  cleared  a  plateful,  I  became  so  far 
humanized  as  to  intimate  to  Mr.  Hunsden  "  that  he  need  not  sit 


46  THE  PROFESSOR. 

there  staring,  but  might  come  to  the  table  and  do  as  I  did,  if  he 
liked." 

"  But  I  don't  like  in  the  least,"  said  he,  and  therewith  he 
summoned  the  servant  by  a  fresh  pull  of  the  bell-rope,  and 
intimated  a  desire  to  have  a  glass  of  toast-and-water.  "  And 
some  more  coal,"  he  added ;  "  Mr.  Crimsworth  shall  keep  a  good 
fire  while  I  stay." 

His  orders  being  executed,  he  wheeled  his  chair  round  to  the 
table,  so  as  to  be  opposite  me. 

"  Well,"  he  proceeded.     "  You  are  out  of  work,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  and  not  disposed  to  show  the  satisfaction  I 
felt  on  this  point,  I,  yielding  to  the  whim  of  the  moment,  took 
up  the  subject  as  though  I  considered  myself  aggrieved  rather 
than  benefited  by  what  had  been  done.  "  Yes — thanks  to  you, 
I  am.  Crimsworth  turned  me  off  at  a  minute's  notice,  owing  to 
some  interference  of  yours  at  a  public  meeting,  1  understand." 

"  Ah !  what !  he  mentioned  that  ?  He  observed  me  signalling 
the  lads,  did  he  ?  What  had  he  to  say  about  his  friend  Huns- 
den — anything  sweet?" 

"  He  called  you  a  treacherous  villain." 

"  Oh,  he  hardly  knows  me  yet !  I'm  one  of  those  shy  people 
who  don't  come  out  all  at  once,  and  he  is  only  just  beginning  to 
make  my  acquaintance,  but  he'll  find  I've  some  good  qualities 
— excellent  ones!  The  Hunsdens  were  always  unrivalled  at 
tracking  a  rascal ;  a  downright  dishonorable  villain  is  their 
natural  prey — they  could  not  keep  off  him  wherever  they  met 
him  ;  you  used  the  word  pragmatical  just  now — that  word  is  the 
property  of  our  family ;  it  has  been  applied  to  us  from  genera- 
tion to  generation ;  we  have  fine  noses  for  abuses ;  we  scent  a 
scoundrel  a  mile  off;  we  are  reformers  born,  radical  reformers ; 
and  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  live  in  the  same  town  with 
Crimsworth,  to  come  into  weekly  contact  with  him,  to  witness 
some  of  his  conduct  to  you  (for  whom  personally  I  care  noth- 
ing ;  I  only  consider  the  brutal  injustice  with  which  he  violated 
your  natural  claim  to  equality) — I  say  it  was  impossible  for  me 
to  be  thus  situated  and  not  feel  the  angel  or  the  demon  of  my 
race  at  work  within  me.  I  followed  my  instinct,  opposed  a 
tyrant,  and  broke  a  chain." 

Now  this  speech  interested  me  much,  both  because  it  brought 


THE  PROFESSOR.  47 

out  Hunsden's  character  and  because  it  explained  his  motives  ; 
it  interested  me  so  much  that  I  forgot  to  reply  to  it,  and  sat 
silent,  pondering  over  a  throng  of  ideas  it  had  suggested. 

"  Are  you  grateful  to  me  ?"  he  asked,  presently. 

In  fact  I  was  grateful,  or  almost  so,  and  I  believe  I  half 
liked  him  at  the  moment,  notwithstanding  his  proviso  that 
what  he  had  done  was  not  out  of  regard  for  me.  But  human 
nature  is  perverse.  Impossible  to  answer  his  blunt  question  in 
the  affirmative,  I  disclaimed  all  tendency  to  gratitude,  and 
advised  him,  if  he  expected  any  reward  for  his  championship, 
to  look  for  it  in  a  better  world,  as  he  was  not  likely  to  meet 
with  it  here.  In  reply  he  termed  me  "  a  dry-hearted  aristo- 
cratic scamp,"  whereupon  I  again  charged  him  with  having 
taken  the  bread  out  of  my  mouth. 

"  Your  bread  was  dirty,  man !"  cried  Hunsden — "  dirty  and 
unwholesome !  It  came  through  the  hands  of  a  tyrant,  for  I 
tell  you  Crimsworth  is  a  tyrant, — a  tyrant  to  his  workpeople,  a 
tyrant  to  his  clerks,  and  will  some  day  be  a  tyrant  to  his  wife." 

"  Nonsense !  bread  is  bread,  and  salary  is  salary.  I've  lost 
mine,  and  through  your  means." 

"  There's  sense  in  what  you  say,  after  all,"  rejoined  Hunsden. 
"  I  must  say  I  am  rather  agreeably  surprised  to  hear  you  make 
so  practical  an  observation  as  that  last.  I  had  imagined  now, 
from  my  previous  observation  of  your  character,  that  the  senti- 
mental delight  you  would  have  taken  in  your  n»vvly-regained 
liberty  would,  for  a  while  at  least,  have  effaced  all  ideas  of 
forethought  and  prudence.  I  think  better  of  you  for  looking 
steadily  to  the  needful." 

"  Looking  steadily  to  the  needful !  How  can  I  do  otherwise  ? 
I  must  live,  and  to  live  I  must  have  what  you  call  '  the  need- 
ful,' which  I  can  only  get  by  working.  I  repeat  it,  you  have 
taken  my  work  from  me." 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do?"  pursued  Hunsden,  coolly. 
"  You  have  influential  relations ;  I  suppose  they'll  soon  provide 
you  with  another  place  ?" 

"  Influential  relations  ?  Who  ?  I  should  like  to  know  their 
names." 

"  The  Seacombes." 

'•f  Stuff!  I  have  cut  them." 


48  THE  PROFESSOR. 

Hunsden  looked  at  me  incredulously. 

"  I  have,"  said  I,  "  and  that  definitely." 

"  You  must  mean  that  they  have  cut  you,  "William." 

"  As  you  please.  They  offered  me  their  patronage  on  condi- 
tion of  my  entering  the  Church  ;  I  declined  both  the  terms  and 
the  recompense  ;  I  withdrew  from  my  cold  uncles,  and  preferred 
throwing  myself  into  my  elder  brother's  arms,  from  whose  affec- 
tionate embrace  I  am  now  torn  by  the  cruel  intermeddling  of  a 
stranger — of  yourself,  in  short." 

I  could  not  repress  a  half-smile  as  I  said  this ;  a  similar  demi- 
manifestation  of  feeling  appeared  at  the  same  moment  on  Huns- 
den's  lips. 

"  Oh,  I  see !"  said  he,  looking  into  my  eyes,  and  it  was  evi- 
dent that  he  did  see  right  down  kito  my  heart.  Having  sat  a 
minute  or  two  with  his  chin  resting  on  his  hand,  diligently 
occupied  in  the  continued  perusal  of  my  countenance,  he  went 
on.  "Seriously,  have  you  then  nothing  to  expect  from  the 
Seacombes  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  rejection  and  repulsion.  Why  do  you  ask  me  twice  ? 
How  can  hands  stained  with  the  ink  of  a  counting-house,  soiled 
with  the  grease  of  a  wool-warehouse,  ever  again  be  permitted  to 
come  into  contact  with  aristocratic  palms  ?" 

"  There  would  be  a  difficulty,  no  doubt ;  still  you  are  such  a 
complete  Seacombe  in  appearance,  feature,  language,  almost 
manner,  I  wonder  they  should  disown  you." 

"  They  have  disowned  me,  so  talk  no  more  about  it." 

"  Do  you  regret  it,  William  ?" 

"No." 

"  Why  not,  lad  ?" 

"  Because  they  are  not  people  with  whom  I  could  ever  have 
had  any  sympathy." 

"  I  say  you  are  one  of  them." 

"  That  merely  proves  that  you  know  nothing  at  all  about  it ; 
I  am  my  mother's  son,  but  not  my  uncle's  nephew." 

"  Still,  one  of  your  uncles  is  a  lord,  though  rather  an  obscure 
and  not  a  very  wealthy  one,  and  the  other  a  right  honorable  ; 
you  should  consider  worldly  interest." 

"  Nonsense,  Mr.  Hunsden.  You  know,  or  may  know,  that 
even  had  I  desired  to  be  submissive  to  my  uncles,  I  could  not 


THE  PROFESSOR.  49  - 

have  stooped  with  a  good  enough  grace  ever  to  have  won  their 
favor.  I  should  have  sacrificed  my  own  comfort,  and  not  have 
gained  their  patronage  in  return." 

"  Very  likely ;  so  you  calculated  your  wisest  plan  was  to  fol- 
low your  own  devices  at  once  ?" 

"  Exactly.  I  must  follow  my  own  devices — I  must  till  the 
day  of  my  death,  because  I  can  neither  comprehend,  adopt,  nor 
work  out  those  of  other  people." 

Hunsden  yawned.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  in  all  this  I  see  but 
one  thing  clearly,  that  is,  that  the  whole  affair  is  no  business  of 
mine.  He  stretched  himself  and  again  yawned.  "I  wonder 
what  time  it  is,"  he  went  on ;  "I  have  an  appointment  for  seven 
o'clock." 

"  Three-quarters  past  six  by  my  watch." 

"  "Well,  then,  I'll  go.  He  immediately  got  up.  "  You'll  not 
meddle  with  trade  again,"  said  he,  leaning  his  elbow  on  the 
mantelpiece. 

"  No  ;  I  think  not." 

"You  would  be  a  fool  if  you  did.  Probably,  after  all, 
you'll  think  better  of  your  uncles'  proposal,  and  go  into  the 
Church." 

"  A  singular  regeneration  must  take  place  in  my  whole  inner 
and  outer  man  before  I  do  that.  A  good  clergyman  is  one  of 
the  best  of  men." 

"  Indeed  !  Do  you  think  so  ?"  interrupted  Hunsden,  scof- 
fingly. 

"  I  do,  and  no  mistake.  But  I  have  not  the  peculiar  points 
which  go  to  make  a  good  clergyman  ;  and  rather  than  adopt  a 
profession  for  which  I  have  no  vocation,  I  would  endure  extre- 
mities of  hardship  from  poverty." 

"  You're  a  mighty  difficult  customer  to  suit.  You  won't  be 
a  tradesman  or  a  parson  ;  you  can't  be  a  lawyer,  or  a  doctor, 
or  a  gentleman,  because  you've  no  money.  I'd  recommend 
you  to  travel." 

"  What !  without  money  ?" 

"  You  must  travel  in  search  of  money,  man.  You  can  speak 
French — with  a  vile  English  accent,  no  doubt — still,  you  can 
speak  it.  Go  on  to  the  Continent,  and  see  what  will  turn  up 
for  you  there." 

4 


50  THE  PROFESSOR. 

"  God  knows  I  should  like  to  go  !"  exclaimed  I,  with  invol- 
untary ardor.  ^ 

"  Go  ;  what  the  deuce  hinders  you  ?  You  may  get  to  Brus- 
sels, for  instance,  for  five  or  six  pounds,  if  you  know  how  to 
manage  with  economy." 

"  Necessity  would  teach  me,  if  I  didn't." 

"  Go,  then,  and  let  your  wits  make  a  way  for  you  when  you 

get  there.  I  know  Brussels  almost  as  well  as  I  know  X •, 

and  I  am  sure  it  would  suit  §uch  a  one  as  you  better  than 
London." 

"  But  occupation,  Mr.  Hunsden !  I  must  go  where  occupa- 
tion is  to  be  had ;  and  how  could  I  get  recommendation,  or 
introduction,  or  employment  at  Brussels  ?" 

"  There  speaks  the  organ  of  caution.  You  hate  to  advance 
a  step  before  you  know  every  inch  of  the  way.  You  haven't  a 
sheet  of  paper  and  a  pen-and-ink  ?" 

"  I  hope  so,"  and  I  produced  writing  materials  with  alacrity ; 
for  I  guessed  what  he  was  going  to  do.  He  sat  down,  wrote  a 
few  lines,  folded,  sealed,  and  addressed  a  letter,  and  held  it  out 
>to  me. 

"  There,  Prudence,  there's  a  pioneer  to  hew  down  the  first 
rough  diificulties  of  your  path.  I  know  well  enough,  lad,  you 
are  not  one  of  those  who  will  run  their  neck  into  a  noose  with- 
out seeing  how  they  are  to  get  it  out  again,  and  you're  right 
there.  A  reckless  man  is  my  aversion,  and  nothing  could  ever 
persuade  me  to  meddle  with  the  concerns  of  such  a  one.  Those 
who  are  reckless  for  themselves  are  generally  ten  times  more  so 
for  their  friends." 

"  This  is  a  letter  of  introduction,  I  suppose  ?"  said  I,  taking 
the  epistle. 

"  Yes.  With  that  in  your  pocket  you  will  run  no  risk  of 
finding  yourself  in  a  state  of  absolute  destitution,  which,  I 
know,  you  will  regard  as  a  degradation — so  should  I,  for  that 
matter.  The  person  to  whom  you  will  present  it  generally  has 
two  or  three  respectable  places  depending  upon  his  recommen- 
dation." 

"  That  will  just  suit  me,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  and  where's  your  gratitude  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Huns- 
den  ;  "  don't  you  know  how  to  say  '  Thank  you  ?' " 


THE  PROFESSOR.  51 

"  I've  fifteen  pounds  and  a  watch,  which  my  godmother, 
whom  I  never  saw,  gave  me  eighteen  years  ago,"  was  my 
rather  irrelevant'  answer ;  and  I  further  avowed  myself  a 
happy  man,  and  professed  that  I  did  not  envy  any  being  in 
Christendom. 

"  And  your  gratitude  ?" 

"  I  shall  be  off  presently,  Mr.  Hunsden — to-morrow,  if  all  be 
well :  I'll  not  stay  a  day  longer  in  X than  I'm  obliged." 

"  Very  good — but  it  will  be  decent  to  make  due  acknowledg- 
ment for  the  assistance  you  have  received ;  be  quick !  It  is 
just  going  to  strike  seven  ;  I'm  waiting  to  be  thanked." 

"  Just  stand  out  of  the  way,  will  you,  Mr.  Hunsden ;  I  want 
a  key  there  is  on  the  corner  of  the  mantelpiece.  I'll  pack  my 
portmanteau  before  I  go  to  bed." 

The  house  clock  struck  seven. 

"  The  lad  is  a  heathen,"  said  Hunsden,  and  taking  his  hat 
from  a  sideboard,  he  left  the  room,  laughing  to  himself.  I  had 
half  an  inclination  to  follow  him :  I  really  intended  to  leave 
X —  —  the  next  morning,  and  should  certainly  not  have  another 
opportunity  of  bidding  him  good-bye.  The  front  door  banged 
to. 

"  Let  him  go,"  said  I,  "  we  shall  meet  again  some  day." 


CHAPTER    VII. 

I)  E  ADER,  perhaps  you  were  never  in  Belgium.     Haply 
l\)  you  don't  know  the  physiognomy  of  the  country  ?     You 
have  not  its  lineam<*ts  defined  upon  your  memory,  as  I  have 
them  on  mine  ? 

Three — nay,  four — pictures  line  the  four-walled  cell  where 
are  stored  for  me  the  records  of  the  past.  First,  Eton.  All  in 
that  picture  is  in  far  perspective,  receding,  diminutive;  but 
freshly  colored,  green,  dewy,  with  a  spring  sky,  piled  with  glit- 
tering yet  showery  clouds ;  for  my  childhood  was  not  all  sun- 


52  THE  PROFESSOR. 

shine— it  had  its  overcast,  its  cold,  its  stormy  hours.     Second, 

X ,  huge,  dingy  ;  the  canvas  cracked  and  smoked ;  a  yellow 

sky,  sooty  clouds ;  no  sun,  no  azure ;  the  verdure  of  the  suburbs 
blighted  and  sullied — a  very  dreary  scene. 

Third,  Belgium ;  and  I  will  pause  before  this  landscape.  As 
to  the  fourth,  a  curtain  covers  it,  which  I  may  hereafter  with- 
draw, or  may  not,  as  suits  my  convenience  and  capacity.  At 
any  rate,  for  the  present,  it  must  hang  undisturbed.  Belgium  ! 
name  unromantic  and  unpoetic,  yet  name  that,  whenever  uttered, 
has  in  my  ear  a  sound,  in  my  heart  an  echo,  such  as  no  other 
assemblage  of  syllables,  however  sweet  or  classic,  can  produce. 
Belgium !  I  repeat  the  word,  now  as  I  sit  alone  near  midnight. 
It  stirs  my  world  of  the  past  like  a  summons  to  resurrection. 
The  graves  unclose,  the  dead  are  raised;  thoughts,  feelings, 
memories  that  slept,  are  seen  by  me  ascending  from  the  clods — 
haloed  most  of  them — but  while  I  gaze  on  their  vapory  forms, 
and  strive  to  ascertain  definitely  their  outline,  the  sound  which 
wakened  them  dies,  and  they  sink,  each  and  all,  like  a  light 
wreath  of  mist,  absorbed  in  the  mould,  recalled  to  urns,  resealed 
in  monuments.  Farewell,  luminous  phantoms ! 

This  is  Belgium,  reader.  Look !  Don't  call  the  picture  a  flat 
or  a  dull  one — it  was  neither  flat  nor  dull  to  me  when  I  first 
beheld  it.  When  I  left  Ostend  on  a  mild  February  morning, 
and  found  myself  on  the  road  to  Brussels,  nothing  could  look 
vapid  to  me.  My  sense  of  enjoyment  possessed  an  edge  whetted 
to  the  finest,  untouched,  keen,  exquisite.  I  was  young ;  I  had 
good  health ;  pleasure  and  I  had  never  met ;  no  indulgence  of 
her  had  enervated,  or  sated  one  faculty  of  my  nature.  Liberty 
I  clasped  in  my  arms  for  the  first  time,  and  the  influence  of  her 
smile  and  embrace  revived  my  life  like  the  sun  and  the  west 
wind.  Yes,  at  that  epoch  I  felt  like  a  morning  traveller  who 
doubts  not  that  from  the  hill  he  is  ascending  he  shall  behold  a 
glorious  sunrise;  what  if  the  track  be  straight,  steep,  and  stony? 
he  sees  it  not ;  his  eyes  are  fixed  on  that  summit,  flushed  already, 
flushed  and  gilded,  and  having  gained  it,  he  is  certain  of  the 
scene  beyond.  He  knows  that  the  sun  will  face  him,  that  his 
chariot  is  even  now  coming  over  the  eastern  horizon,  and  that 
the  herald  breeze  he  feels  on  his  cheek  is  opening  for  the  god's 
career  a  clear,  vast  path  of  azure,  amidst  clouds  soft  as  pearl 


THE  PROFESSOR.  53 

and  warm  as  flame.  Difficulty  and  toil  were  to'  be  my  lot,  but 
sustained  by  energy,  drawn  on  by  hopes  as  bright  as  vague,  I 
deemed  such  a  lot  no  hardship.  I  mounted  now  the  hill  in 
shade ;  there  were  pebbles,  inequalities,  briars  in  my  path,  but 
my  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  crimson  peak  above ;  my  imagina- 
tion was  with  the  refulgent  firmament  beyond,  and  I  thought 
nothing  of  the  stones  turning  under  my  feet,  or  of  the  thorns 
scratching  my  face  and  hands. 

I  gazed  often,  and  always  with  delight,  from  the  window  of 
the  diligence  (these,  be  it  remembered,  were  not  the  days  of 
trains  and  railroads).  Well !  and  what  did  I  see  ?  I  will  tell 
you  faithfully.  Green,  reedy  swamps;  fields  fertile  but  flat, 
cultivated  in  patches  that  made  them  look  like  magnified 
kitchen-gardens ;  belts  of  cut  trees,  formal  as  pollard  willows, 
skirting  the  horizon ;  narrow  canals,  gliding  slow  by  the  road- 
side ;  painted  Flemish  farm-houses ;  some  very  dirty  hovels ;  a 
gray,  dead  sky;  wet  road,  wet  fields,  wet  house-tops;  not  a 
beautiful,  scarcely  a  picturesque  object  met  my  eyes  along  the 
whole  route ;  yet  to  me,  all  was  beautiful,  all  was  more  than 
picturesque.  It  continued  fair  so  long  as  daylight  lasted, 
though  the  moisture  of  many  preceding  damp  days  had  sodden 
the  whole  country ;  as  it  grew  dark,  however,  the  rain  recom- 
menced, and  it  was  through  streaming  and  starless  darkness  my 
eye  caught  the  first  gleam  of  the  lights  of  Brussels.  I  saw 
little  of  the  city  but  its  lights  that  night.  Having  alighted 

from  the  diligence,  a  fiacre  conveyed  me  to  the  Hotel  de , 

where  I  had  been  advised  by  a  fellow-traveller  to  put  up; 
having  eaten  a  traveller's  supper,  I  retired  to  bed,  and  slept  a 
traveller's  sleep. 

Next  morning  I  awoke  from  prolonged  and  sound  repose  with 

the  impression  that  I  was  yet  in  X ,  and  perceiving  it  to  be 

broad  daylight,  I  started  up,  imagining  that  I  had  overslept 
myself,  and  should  be  behind  time  at  the  counting-house.  The 
momentary  and  painful  sense  of  restraint  vanished  before  the 
revived  and  reviving  consciousness  of  freedom,  as,  throwing  back 
the  white  curtains  of  my  bed,  I  looked  forth  into  a  wide,  lofty 
foreign  chamber;  how  different  from  the  small  and  dingy, 
though  not  uncomfortable,  apartment  I  had  occupied  for  a 
night  or  two  at  a  respectable  inn  in  London  while  waiting  for 


54  THE  PROFESSOR. 

the  sailing  of  the  packet !  Yet  far  be  it  from  me  to  profane  the 
memory  of  that  little  dingy  room  !  It,  too,  is  dear  to  my  soul ; 
for  there,  as  I  lay  in  quiet  and  darkness,  I  first  heard  the  great 
bell  of  St.  Paul's  telling  London  it  was  midnight,  and  well  do  I 
recall  the  deep  deliberate  tones,  so  full  charged  with  colossal 
phlegm  and  force.  From  the  small,  narrow  window  of  that 
room,  I  first  saw  the  dome,  looming  through  a  London  mist.  I 
suppose  the  sensations  stirred  by  those  first  sounds,  first  sights, 
are  felt  but  once ;  treasure  them,  Memory ;  seal  them  in  urns, 
and  keep  them  in  safe  niches !  "Well — I  rose.  Travellers  talk 
of  the  apartments  in  foreign  dwellings  being  bare  and  uncom- 
fortable ;  I  thought  my  chamber  looked  stately  and  cheerful. 
It  had  such  large  windows — croisees  that  opened  like  doors,  with 
such  broad,  clear  panes  of  glass ;  such  a  great  looking-glass 
stood  on  my  dressing-table — such  a  fine  mirror  glittered  over 
the  mantelpiece — the  painted  floor  looked  so  clean  and  glossy ; 
when  I  had  dressed  and  was  descending  the  stairs,  broad  marble 
steps  almost  awed  me,  and  so  did  the  lofty  hall  into  which  they 
conducted.  On  the  first  landing  I  met  a  Flemish  housemaid : 
she  had  wooden  shoes,  a  short  red  petticoat,  a  printed  cotton 
bedgown;  her  face  was  broad,  her  physiognomy  eminently 
stupid ;  when  I  spoke  to  her  in  French,  she  answered  me  in 
Flemish,  with  an  air  the  reverse  of  civil ;  yet  I  thought  her 
charming ;  if  she  was  not  pretty  or  polite,  she  was,  I  conceived, 
very  picturesque ;  she  reminded  me  of  the  female  figures  in  cer- 
tain Dutch  paintings  I  had  seen  in  other  years  at  Seacombe 
Hall. 

I  repaired  to  the  public  room ;  that,  too,  was  very  large  and 
very  lofty,  and  warmed  by  a  stove.  The  floor  was  black,  and 
the  stove  was  black,  and  most  of  the  furniture  was  black ;  yet 
I  never  experienced  a  freer  sense  of  exhilaration  than  when  I 
sat  down  at  a  very  long,  black  table  (covered,  however,  in  part 
by  a  white  cloth),  and  having  ordered  breakfast,  began  to  pour 
out  my  coffee  from  a  little  black  coffee-pot.  The  stove  might  be 
dismal-looking  to  some  eyes,  not  to  mine,  but  it  was  indispu- 
tably very  warm,  and  there  were  two  gentlemen  seated  by  it 
talking  in  French ;  impossible  to  follow  their  rapid  utterance,  or 
comprehend  much  of  the  purport  of  what  they  said  ;  yet  French, 
in  the  mouths  of  Frenchmen,  or  Belgians  (I  Avas  not  then  sen- 


THE  PROFESSOR.  55 

sible  of  the  horrors  of  the  Belgian  accent)  was  as  music  to  my 
ears.  One  of  these  gentlemen  presently  discerned  me  to  be  an 
Englishman — no  doubt  from  the  fashion  in  Avhich  I  addressed 

o 

the  waiter ;  for  I  would  persist  in  speaking  French  in  my  ex- 
crable  South  of  England  style,  though  the  man  understood 
English.  The  gentleman,  after  looking  towards  me  once  or 
twice,  politely  accosted  me  in  very  good  English :  I  remember 
I  wished  to  God  that  I  could  speak  French  as  well ;  his  fluency 
and  correct  pronunciation  impressed  me  for  the  first  time  with 
a  due  notion  of  the  cosmopolitan  character  of  the  capital  I  was- 
in ;  it  was  my  first  experience  of  that  skill  in  living  languages 
I  afterwards  found  to  be  so  general  in  Brussels. 

I  lingered  over  my  breakfast  as  long  as  I  could ;  while  it  was 
there  on  the  table,  and  while  that  stranger  continued  talking  to 
me,  I  was  a  free,  independent  traveller ;  but  at  last  the  things 
were  removed,  the  two  gentlemen  left  the  room ;  suddenly  the 
illusion  ceased ;  reality  and  business  came  back.  I,  a  bondsman 
just  released  from  the  yoke,  freed  for  one  week  from  twenty-one 
years  of  constraint,  must,  of  necessity,  resume  the  fetters  of 
dependency.  Hardly  had  I  tasted  the  delight  of  being  without 
a  master,  when  duty  issued  her  stern  mandate :  "  Go  forth  and 
seek  another  service."  I  never  linger  over  a  painful  and  neces- 
sary task ;  I  never  take  pleasure  before  business,  it  is  not  in  my 
nature  to  do  so ;  impossible  to  enjoy  a  leisurely  walk  over  the 
city,  though  I  perceived  the  morning  was  very  fine,  until  I  had 
first  presented  Mr.  Hunsden's  letter  of  introduction,  and  got 
fairly  on  to  the  track  of  a  new  situation.  Wrenching  my 
mind  from  liberty  and  delight,  I  seized  my  hat,  and  forced 

my  reluctant  body  out  of  the  Hotel  de into  the  foreign 

street. 

It  was  a  fine  day,  but  I  would  not  look  at  the  blue  sky  or  at 
the  stately  houses  round  me  ;  my  mind  was  bent  on  one  thing, 
finding  out  "Mr.  Brown,  Numero  — ,  Rue  Royale,"  for  so  my 
letter  was  addressed.  By  dint  of  inquiry  I  succeeded  ;  I  stood 
at  last  at  the  desired  door,  knocked,  asked  for  Mr.  Brown,  and 
was  admitted. 

Being  shown  into  a  small  breakfast-room,  I  found  myself  in 
the  presence  of  an  elderly  gentleman — very  grave,  business-like, 
and  respectable-looking.  I  presented  Mr.  Hunsden's  letter ;  he 


56  THE  PROFESSOR. 

received  me  very  civilly.  After  a  little  Desultory  conversation, 
he  asked  me  if,  there  was  anything  in  which  his  advice  or  ex- 
perience could  be  of  use.  I  said,  "  Yes,"  and  then  proceeded  to 
tell  him  that  I  was  not  a  gentleman  of  fortune,  travelling  for 
pleasure,  but  an  ex-counting-house  clerk,  who  wanted  employ- 
ment of  some  kind,  and  that  immediately  too.  He  replied  that 
as  a  friend  of  Mr.  Hunsden's  he  would  be  willing  to  assist  me  as 
well  as  he  could.  After  some  meditation,  he  named  a  place  in  a 
mercantile  house  at  Liege,  and  another  in  a  bookseller's  shop  at 
Lou  vain. 

"Clerk  and  shopman!"  murmured  I  to  myself.  "No."  I 
shook  my  head.  I  had  tried  the  high  stool ;  I  hated  it :  I  be- 
lieved there  were  other  occupations  that  would  suit  me  better ; 
besides,  I  did  not  wish  to  leave  Brussels. 

"I  know  of  no  place  in  Brussels,"  answered  Mr.  Brown, 
"unless  indeed  you  were  disposed  to  turn  your  attention  to 
teaching.  I  am  acquainted  with  the  director  of  a  large  estab- 
lishment who  is  in  want  of  a  professor  of  English  and  Latin." 

I  thought  two  minutes,  then  I  seized  the  idea  eagerly. 

"  The  very  thing,  sir  !"  said  I. 

"  But,"  asked  he,  "  do  you  understand  French  well  enough 
to  teach  Belgian  boys  English  ?" 

Fortunately  I  could  answer  this  question  in  the  affirmative ; 
having  studied  French  under  a  Frenchman,  I  could  speak  the 
language  intelligibly  though  not  fluently.  I  could  also  read  it 
well,  and  write  it  decently. 

"  Then,"  pursued  Mr.  Brown,  "  I  think  I  can  promise  you  the 
place,  for  Monsieur  Pelet  will  not  refuse  a  professor  recom- 
mended by  me !  But  come  here  again  at  five  o'clock  this  after- 
noon, and  I  will  introduce  you  to  him." 

The  word  "  professor"  struck  me.  "  I  am  not  a  professor," 
said  I. 

"  Oh,"  returned  Mr.  Brown,  "  professor,  here  in  Belgium, 
means  a  teacher,  that  is  all." 

My  conscience  thus  quieted,  I  thanked  Mr.  Brown,  and,  for 
the  present,  withdrew.  This  time  I  stepped  out  into  the  street 
with  a  relieved  heart ;  the  task  I  had  imposed  on  myself  for 
that  day  was  executed.  I  might  now  take  some  hours  of  holi- 
day. I  felt  free  to  look  up.  For  the  first  time  I  remarked  the 


THE  PROFESSOR.  57 

sparkling  clearness  of  the  air,  the  deep  blue  of  the  sky,  the  gay, 
clean  aspect  of  the  whitewashed  or  painted  houses ;  I  saw  what  a 
fine  street  was  the  Rue  Royale,  and,  walking  leisurely  along  its 
broad  pavement,  I  continued  to  survey  its  stately  hotels,  till  the 
palisade,  the  gates,  and  trees  of  the  park  appearing  in  sight, 
offered  to  my  eye  a  new  attraction.  I  remember,  before  entering 
the  park,  I  stood  a  while  to  contemplate  the  statue  of  General 
Belliard,  and  then  I  advanced  to  the  top  of  the  great  staircase 
just  beyond,  and  I  looked  down  into  a  narrow  back  street, 
which  I  afterwards  learned  was  called  the  Rue  d'Isabelle.  I 
well  recollect  that  my  eye  rested  on  the  green  door  of  a  rather 
large  house  opposite,  where,  on  a  brass  plate,  was  inscribed, 
"  Pensionnat  de  Demoiselles."  Pensionnat !  The  word  excited 
an  uneasy  sensation  in  my  mind  ;  it  seemed  to  speak  of  restraint. 
Some  of  the  demoiselles,  externats  no  doubt,  were  at  that  mo- 
ment issuing  from  the  door.  I  looked  for  a  pretty  face  amongst 
them,  but  their  close  little  French  bonnets  hid  their  features ;  in 
a  moment  they  were  gone. 

I  had  traversed  a  good  deal  of  Brussels  before  five  o'clock 
arrived,  but  punctually  as  that  hour  struck,  I  was  again  in  the 
Rue  Royale.  Re-admitted  to  Mr.  Brown's  breakfast-room,  I 
found  him,  as  before,  seated  at  the  table,  and  he  was  not  alone 
— a  gentleman  stood  by  the  hearth.  Two  words  of  introduction 
designated  him  as  my  future  master.  "  M.  Pelet,  Mr.  Crims- 
worth — Mr.  Crimsworth,  M.  Pelet."  A  bow  on  each  side 
finished  the  ceremony.  I  don't  know  w.hat  sort  of  a  bow  I  made : 
an  ordinary  one,  I  suppose,  for  I  was  in  a  tranquil,  common- 
place frame  of  mind  ;  I  felt  none  of  the  agitation  which  had 
troubled  my  first  interview  with  Edward  Crimsworth.  M. 
Pelet's  bow  was  extremely  polite,  yet  not  theatrical — scarcely 
French  ;  he  and  I  were  presently  seated  opposite  to  each  other. 
In  a  pleasing  voice,  low,  and,  out  of  consideration  to  my  foreign 
ears,  very  distinct  and  deliberate,  M.  Pelet  intimated  that  he 
had  just  been  receiving  from  "  le  respectable  M.  Brown"  an 
account  of  my  attainments  and  character,  which  relieved  him 
from  all  scruple  as  to  the  propriety  of  engaging  me  as  Professor 
of  English  and  Latin  in  his  establishment ;  nevertheless,  for 
form's  sake,  he  would  put  a  few  questions  to  test  my  powers.  He 
did,  and  expressed  in  flattering  terms  his  satisfaction  at  my 


58  THE  PROFESSOR. 

answers.  The  subject  of  salary  next  came  on  ;  it  was  fixed  at 
one  thousand  francs  per  annum,  besides  board  and  lodging. 
"  And  in  addition,"  suggested  M.  Pelet,  "  as  there  will  be  some 
hours  in  each  day  during  which  your  services  will  not  be  re- 
quired in  my  establishment,  you  may  in  time  obtain  employ- 
ment in  other  seminaries,  and  thus  turn  your  vacant  moments 
to  profitable  account." 

I  thought  this  very  kind,  and  indeed  I  found  afterwards  that 
the  terms  on  which  M.  Pelet  had  engaged  me  were  really  libe- 
ral for  Brussels,  instruction  being  extremely  cheap  there,  on 
account  of  the  number  of  teachers.  It  was  further  arranged 
that  I  should  be  installed  in  my  new  post  the  very  next  day, 
after  which  M.  Pelet  and  I  parted. 

Well,  and  what  was  he  like,  and  what  were  my  impressions 
concerning  him  ?  He  was  a  man  of  about  forty  years  of  age,  of 
middle  size,  and  rather  emaciated  figure ;  his  face  was  pale,  his 
cheeks  were  sunk,  and  his  eyes  hollow  ;  his  features  were  pleas"- 
ing  and  regular ;  they  had  a  French  turn  (for  M.  Pelet  was  no 
Fleming,  but  a  Frenchman  both  by  birth  and  parentage),  yet 
the  degree  of  harshness  inseparable  from  Gallic  lineaments  was 
in  his  case  softened  by  a  mild  blue  eye,  and  a  melancholy, 
almost  suffering,  expression  of  countenance ;  his  physiognomy 
was  "fine  et  spirituelle."  I  use  two  French  words  because 
they  define  better  than  any  English  terms  the  species  of  intel- 
ligence with  which  his  features  were  imbued.  He  was  alto- 
gether an  interesting  and  prepossessing  personage.  I  wondered 
only  at  the  utter  absence  of  all  the  ordinary  characteristics  of 
his  profession,  and  almost  feared  he  could  not  be  stern  and 
resolute  enough  for  a  schoolmaster.  Externally,  at  least,  M. 
Pelet  presented  an  absolute  contrast  to  my  late  master,  Edward 
Crimsworth. 

Influenced  by  the  impression  I  had  received  of  his  gentleness, 
I  was  a  good  deal  surprised  when,  on  arriving  the  next  day  at 
my  new  employer's  house,  and  being  admitted  to  a  first  view  of 
what  was  to  be  the  sphere  of  my  future  labors,  namely,  the 
large,  lofty,  and  well-lighted  schoolrooms,  I  beheld  a  numerous 
assemblage  of  pupils  (boys,  of  course),  whose  collective  appear- 
ance showed  all  the  signs  of  a  full,  flourishing,  and  well-dis- 
ciplined seminary.  As  I  traversed  the  classes  in  company  with 


THE  PROFESSOR.  59 

M.  Pelet,  a  profound  silence  reigned  on  all  sides,  and  if  by 
chance  a  murmur  or  a  whisper  arose,  one  glance  from  the  pen- 
sive eye  of  this  most  gentle  pedagogue  stilled  it  instantly.  It 
was  astonishing,  I  thought,  how  so  mild  a  check  could  prove  so 
effectual.  When  I  had  perambulated  the  length  and  breadth 
of  the  classes,  M.  Pelet  turned  and  said  to  me,  "  Would  you 
object  to  taking  the  boys  as  they  are,  and  testing  their  profi- 
ciency in  English  ?" 

The  proposal  was  unexpected.  I  had  thought  I  should  have 
been  allowed  at  least  a  day  to  prepare ;  but  it  is  a  bad  omen  to 
commence  any  career  by  hesitation,  so  I  just  stepped  to  the  pro- 
fessor's desk,  near  which  we  stood,  and  faced  the  circle  of  my 
pupils.  I  took  a  moment  to  collect  my  thoughts,  and  likewise 
to  frame  in  French,  the  sentence  by  which  I  proposed  to  open 
business.  I  made  it  as  short  as  possible :  "  Messieurs,  prenez 
vos  livres  de  lecture." 

"  Anglais  ou  Francais,  Monsieur  ?'.'  demanded  a  thick-set, 
moon-faced  young  Flamand  in  a  blouse.  The  answer  was  for- 
tunately easy :  "  Anglais." 

I  determined  to  give  myself  as  little  trouble  as  possible  in  this 
lesson  ;  it  would  not  do  yet  to  trust  my  unpractised  tongue  with 
the  delivery  of  explanations ;  my  accent  and  idiom  would  be 
too  open  to  the  criticisms  of  the  young  gentlemen  before  me, 
relative  to  whom  I  felt  already  it  would  be  necessary  at  once  to 
take  up  an  advantageous  position,  and  I  proceeded  to  employ 
means  accordingly. 

"  Commencez !"  cried  I,  when  they  had  all  produced  their 
books.  The  moon-faced  youth  (by  name  Jules  Vanderkelov,  as 
I  afterwards  learned)  took  the  first  sentence.  The  "  livre  de 
lecture"  was  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  much  used  in  foreign 
schools  because  it  is  supposed  to  contain  prime  samples  of  con- 
versational English ;  it  might,  however,  have  been  a  Runic 
scroll  for  any  resemblance  the  words,  as  enunciated  by  Jules, 
bore  to  the  language  in  ordinary  use  amongst  the  natives  of 
Great  Britain.  Heavens!  how  he  did  sniffle,  snort  and  wheeze! 
All  he  said  was  said  in  his  throat  and  nose,  for  it  is  thus  the 
Flamands  speak,  but  I  heard  him  to  the  end  of  his  paragraph 
without  proffering  a  word  of  correction,  whereat  he  looked 
vastly  self-complacent,  convinced,  no  doubt,  that  he  had 


60  TEE  PROFESSOR. 

acquitted  himself  like  a  real  born  and  bred  "Anglais."  In  the 
same  unmoved  silence  I  listened  to  a  dozen  in  rotation,  and 
when  the  twelfth  had  concluded  with  splutter,  hiss,  and  mum- 
ble, I  solemnly  laid  down  the  book. 

"Arretez !"  said  I.  There  was  a  pause,  during  which  I  re- 
garded them  all  with  a  steady  and  somewhat  stern  gaze:  a 'dog, 
if  stared  at  hard  enough  and  long  enough,  will  show  symptoms 
of  embarrassment,  and  so  at  length  did  my  bench  of  Belgians. 
Perceiving  that  some  of  the  faces  before  me  were  beginning  to 
look  sullen,  and  others  ashamed,  I  slowly  joined  my  hands, 
and  ejaculated  in  a  deep  "voix  depoitrine" — "  Comme  c'est 
affreux!" 

They  looked  at  each  other,  pouted,  colored,  swung  their 
heels ;  they  were  not  pleased,  I  saw,  but  they  were  impressed, 
and  in  the  way  I  wished  them  to  be.  Having  thus  taken  them 
down  a  peg  in  their  self-conceit,  the  next  step  was  to  raise  my- 
self in  their  estimation — not  a  very  easy  thing,  considering 
that  I  hardly  dared  to  speak  for  fear  of  betraying  my  own 
deficiencies. 

"  Ecoutez,  Messieurs !"  said  I,  and  I  endeavored  to  throw 
into  my  accents  the  compassionate  tone  of  a  superior  being, 
who,  touched  by  the  extremity  of  the  helplessness  which  at 
first  only  excited  his  scorn,  deigns  at  length  to  bestow  aid. 
I  then  began  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield, 
and  read,  in  a  slow,  distinct  voice,  some  twenty  pages,  they 
all  the  while  sitting  mute  and  listening  with  fixed  attention ; 
by  the  time  I  had  done  nearly  aft  hour  had  elapsed.  I  then 
rose  and  said: — "C'est  assez  pour  aujourd'hui,  Messieurs; 
demain  nous  recomme^erons,  et  j'espe're  que  tout  ira  bien." 

With  this  oracular  sentence  I  bowed,  and  in  company  with 
M.  Pelet  quitted  the  schoolroom. 

"  C'est  bien !  c'est  tr&s  bien  !"  said  my  principal  as  we  en- 
tered his  parlor.  "  Je  vois  que  monsieur  a  de  1'adresse ;  cela 
me  plait,  car,  dans  1'instruction,  1'adresse  fait  tout  autant  que 
le  savoir." 

From  the  parlor  M.  Pelet  conducted  me  to  my  apartment, 
my  "  chambre,"  as  Monsieur  said,  with  a  certain  air  of  compla- 
cency. It  was  a  very  small  room,  with  an  excessively  small 
bed,  but  M.  Pelet  gave  me  to  understand  that  I  was  to  occupy 


THE  PROFESSOR.  61 

it  quite  alone,  which  was  of  course  a  great  comfort.  Yet, 
though  so  limited  in  dimensions,  it  had  two  windows.  Light 
not  being  taxed  in  Belgium,  the  people  never  grudge  its  admis- 
sion into  their  houses  ;  just  here,  however,  this  observation  is 
not  very  apropos,  for  one  of  these  windows  was  boarded  up ; 
the  open  window  looked  into  the  boys'  playground.  I  glanced 
at  the  other,  as  wondering  what  aspect  it  would  present  if  dis- 
encumbered of  the  boards.  M.  Pelet  read,  I  suppose,  the  ex- 
pression of  my  eye ;  he  explained : — "  La  fenetre  fermee  donne 
sur  uu  jardin  appurtenant  a  un  pensionnat  de  demoiselles,"  said 
he,  "  et  les  convenances  exigent — enfin,  vous  comprenez — n'est-ce 
pas,  Monsieur?" 

"  Oui,  oui,"  was  my  reply,  and  I  looked  of  course  quite  satis- 
fied ;  but  when  M.  Pelet  had  retired  and  closed  the  door  after 
him,  the  first  thing  I  did  was  to  scrutinize  closely  the  nailed 
boards,  hoping  to  find  some  chink  or  crevice  which  I  might 
enlarge,  and  so  get  a  peep  at  the  consecrated  ground.  My 
researches  were  vain,  for  the  boards  were  well  joined  and 
strongly  nailed.  It  is  astonishing  how  disappointed  I  felt.  I 
thought  it  would  have  been  so  pleasant  to  have  looked  out 
upon  a  garden  planted  with  flowers  and  trees,  so  amusing  to 
have  watched  the  demoiselles  at  their  play ;  to  have  studied 
female  character  in  a  variety  of  phases,  myself  the  while  shel- 
tered from  view  by  a  modest  muslin  curtain,  whereas,  owing 
doubtless  to  the  absurd  scruples  of  some  old  duenna  of  a  di- 
rectress, I  had  now  only  the  option  of  looking  at  a  bare  grav- 
elled court,  with  an  enormous  "  pas  de  geant "  in  the  middle, 
and  the  monotonous  walls  and  windows  of  a  boys'  school-house 
round.  Not  only  then,  but  many  a  time  after,  especially  in 
moments  of  weariness  and  low  spirits,  did  I  look  with  dissat- 
isfied eyes  on  that  most  tantalizing  board,  longing  to  tear  it 
away  and  get  a  glimpse  of  the  green  region  which  I  imagined 
to  lie  beyond.  I  knew  a  tree  grew  close  up  to  the  window,  for 
though  there  were  as  yet  no  leaves  to  rustle,  I  often  heard  at 
night  the  tapping  of  branches  against  the  panes.  In  the  day- 
time, when  I  listened  attentively,  I  could  hear,  even  through  the 
boards,  the  voices  of  the  demoiselles  in  their  hours  of  recreation, 
and,  to  speak  the  honest  truth,  my  sentimental  reflections  were 
occasionally  a  trifle  disarranged  by  the  not  quite  silvery,  in  fact 


62  THE  PROFESSOR. 

the  too  often  brazen  sounds,  which,  rising  from  the  unseen  para- 
dise below,  penetrated  clamorously  into  my  solitude.  Not  to 
mince  matters,  it  really  seemed  to  me  a  doubtful  case  whether 
the  lungs  of  Mdlle.  Renter's  girls  or  those  of  M.  Pelet's  boys 
were  the  strongest,  and  when  it  came  to  shrieking  the  girls  in- 
disputably beat  the  boys  hollow.  I  forgot  to  say,  by-the-by, 
that  Reuter  was  the  name  of  the  old  lady  who  had  had  my 
window  boarded  up.  I  say  old,  for  such  I,  of  course,  concluded 
her  to  be,  judging  from  her  cautious,  chaperon-like  proceedings; 
besides,  nobody  ever  spoke  of  her  as  young.  I  remember  I  was 
very  much  amused  when  I  first  heard  her  Christian  name ;  it 
was  Zoraide — Mademoiselle  Zoraide  Reuter.  But  the  conti- 
nental nations  do  allow  themselves  vagaries  in  the  choice  of 
names,  such  as  we  sober  English  never  run  into.  I  think, 
indeed,  we  have  too  limited  a  list  to  choose  from. 

Meantime  my  path  was  gradually  growing  smooth  before  me. 
I,  in  a  few  weeks,  conquered  the  teasing  difficulties  inseparable 
from  the  commencement  of  almost  every  career.  Ere  long  I 
had  acquired  as  much  facility  in  speaking  French  as  set  me  at 
my  ease  with  my  pupils ;  and  as  I  had  encountered  them  on  a 
right  footing  at  the  very  beginning,  and  continued  tenaciously 
to  retain  the  advantage  I  had  early  gained,  they  never  attempted 
mutiny,  which  circumstance,  all  who  are  in  any  degree  ac- 
quainted with  the  ongoings  of  Belgian  schools,  and  who  know 
the  relation  in  which  professors  and  pupils  too  frequently  stand 
towards  each  other  in  those  establishments,  will  consider  an 
important  and  uncommon  one.  Before  concluding  this  chapter, 
I  will  say  a  word  on  the  system  I  pursued  with  regard  to  my 
classes  :  my  experience  may  possibly  be  of  use  to  others. 

It  did  not  require  very  keen  observation  to  detect  the  charac- 
ter of  the  youth  of  Brabant,  but  it  needed  a  certain  degree  of 
tact  to  adapt  one's  measures  to  their  capacity.  Their  intellec- 
tual faculties  were  generally  weak,  their  animal  propensities 
strong ;  thus  there  was  at  once  an  impotence  and  a  kind  of 
inert  force  in  their  natures ;  they  were  dull,  but  they  were  also 
singularly  stubborn,  heavy  as  lead  and,  like  lead,  most  difficult 
to  move.  Such  being  the  case,  it  would  have  been  truly  absurd 
to  exact  from  them  much  in  the  way  of  mental  exertion ;  having 
short  memories,  dense  intelligence,  feeble  reflective  powers,  they 


THE  PROFESSOR.  63 

recoiled  with  repugnance  from  any  occupation  that  demanded 
close  study  or  deep  thought.  Had  the  abhorred  effort  been 
extorted  from  them  by  injudicious  and  arbitrary  measures  on 
the  part  of  the  professor,  they  would  have  resisted  as  obsti- 
nately, as  clamorously,  as  desperate  swine ;  and  though  not 
brave  singly,  they  were  relentless  acting  en  masse. 

I  understood  'that  before  my  arrival  in  M.  Pelet's  establish- 
ment, the  combined  insubordination  of  the  pupils  had  effected 
the  dismissal  of  more  than  one  English  master.  It  was  neces- 
sary, then,  to  exact  only  the  most  moderate  application  from 
natures  so  little  qualified  to  apply — to  assist,  in  every  practica- 
ble way,  understandings  so  opaque  and  contracted — to  be  ever 
gentle,  considerate,  yielding  even,  to  a  certain  point,  with  dis- 
positions so  irrationally  perverse;  but,  having  reached  that 
culminating  point  of  indulgence,  you  must  fix  your  foot,  plant 
it,  root  it  in  rock — become  immutable  as  the  towers  of  St. 
Guclule ;  for  a  step — but  half  a  step  farther,  and  you  would 
plunge  headlong  into  the  gulf  of  imbecility  ;  there  lodged,  you 
would  speedily  receive  proofs  of  Flemish  gratitude  and  magna- 
nimity in  showers  of  Brabant  saliva  and  handfuls  of  Low 
Country  mud.  You  might  smooth  to  the  utmost  the  path  of 
learning,  remove  every  pebble  from  the  track ;  but  then  you 
must  finally  insist  with  decision  on  the  pupil  taking  your  arm 
and  allowing  himself  to  be  led  quietly  along  the  prepared  road. 
When  I  had  brought  down  my  lesson  to  the  lowest  level  of  my 
dullest  pupil's  capacity — when  I  had  shown  myself  the  mildest, 
the  most  tolerant  of  masters — a  word  of  impertinence,  a  move- 
ment of  disobedience,  changed  me  at  once  into  a  despot.  I 
offered  them  but  one  alternative — submission  and  acknowledg- 
ment of  error,  or  ignominious  expulsion.  This  system  answered, 
and  my  influence,  by  degrees,  became  established  on  a  firm 
basis.  "  The  boy  is  father  to  the  man,"  it  is  said ;  and  so  I 
often  thought  when  I  looked  at  my  boys  and  remembered  the 
political  history  of  their  ancestors.  Pelet's  school  was  merely  an 
epitome  of  the  Belgian  nation. 


64  THE  PROFESSOR. 


CHAPTEK  VIII. 

AND  Pelet  himself?  How  did  I  continue  to  like  him?  Oh, 
extremely  well !  Nothing  could  be  more  smooth,  gentle- 
manlike, and  even  friendly,  than  his  demeanor  to  me.  I  had 
to  endure  from  him  neither  cold  neglect,  irritating  interference, 
nor  pretentious  assumption  of  superiority.  I  fear,  however,  two 
poor,  hard-worked  Belgian  ushers  in  the  establishment  could  not 
have  said  as  much ;  to  them  the  director's  manner  was  invari- 
ably dry,  stern,  and  cool.  I  believe  he  perceived  once  or  twice 
that  I  was  a  little  shocked  at  the  difference  he  made  between 
them  and  me,  and  accounted  for  it  by  saying,  with  a  quiet  sar- 
castic smile — "  Ce  ne  sont  que  des  Flamands — allez !" 

And  then  he  took  his  cigar  gently  from  his  lips  and  spat  on 
the  painted  floor  of  the  room  in  which  we  were  sitting.  Fla- 
mands certainly  they  were,  and  both  had  the  true  Flamaud 
physiognomy,  where  intellectual  inferiority  is  marked  in  lines 
none  can  mistake ;  still  they  were  men,  and,  in  the  main,  honest 
men  ;  and  I  could  not  see  why  their  being  originals  of  the  flat, 
dull  soil  should  serve  as  a  pretext  for  treating  them  with  per- 
petual severity  and  contempt.  This  idea  of  injustice  somewhat 
poisoned  the  pleasure  I  might  otherwise  have  derived  from 
Pelet's  soft,  affable  manner  to  myself.  Certainly  it  was  agree- 
able, when  the  day's  work  was  over,  to  find  one's  employer  an 
intelligent  and  cheerful  companion  ;  and  if  he  was  sometimes  a 
little  sarcastic  and  sometimes  a  little  too  insinuating,  and  if  I 
did  discover  that  his  mildness  was  more  a  matter  of  appearance 
than  of  reality — if  I  did  occasionally  suspect  the  existence  of 
flint  or  steel  under  an  external  covering  of  velvet — still  we  are 
none  of  us  perfect ;  and  weary  as  I  was  of  the  atmosphere  of 
brutality  and  insolence  in  which  I  had  constantly  lived  at 

X ,  I  had  no  inclination  now,  on  casting  anchor  in  calmer 

regions,  to  institute  at  once  a  prying  search  after  defects  that 
were  scrupulously  withdrawn  and  carefully  veiled  from  my 
view.  I  was  willing  to  take  Pelet  for  what  he  seemed — to 
believe  him  benevolent  and  friendly  until  some  untoward  event 


THE  PROFESSOR.  65 

should  prove  him  otherwise.  He  was  not  married,  and  I  soon 
perceived  he  had  all  a  Frenchman's,  all  a  Parisian's  notions 
about  matrimony  and  women.  I  suspected  a  degree  of  laxity 
in  his  code  of  morals,  there  was  something  so  cold  and  blase  in 
his  tone  whenever  he  alluded  to  what  he  called  "  le  beau  sexe ;" 
but  he  was  too  gentlemanlike  to  intrude  topics  I  did  not  invite, 
and  as  he  was  really  intelligent  and  really  fond  of  intellectual 
subjects  of  discourse,  he  and  I  always  found  enough  to  talk 
about,  without  seeking  themes  in  the  mire.  I  hated  his  fashion 
of  mentioning  love ;  I  abhorred,  from  my  soul,  mere  licentious- 
ness. He  felt  the  difference  of  our  notions,  and,  by  mutual 
consent,  we  kept  off  ground  debatable. 

Pelet's  house  was  kept  and  his  kitchen  managed  by  his 
mother,  a  real  old  Frenchwoman ;  she  had  been  handsome — at 
least  she  told  me  so,  and  I  strove  to  believe  her ;  she  was  now 
ugly,  as  only  continental  old  women  can  be ;  perhaps,  though, 
her  style  of  dress  made  her  look  uglier  than  she  really  was. 
Indoors  she  would  go  about  without  cap,  her  gray  hair  strangely 
dishevelled ;  then,  when  at  home,  she  seldom  wore  a  gown — 
only  a  shabby  cotton  camisole;  shoes,  too,  were. strangers  to  her 
feet,  and  in  lieu  of  them  she  sported  roomy  slippers,  trodden 
down  at  the  heels.  On  the  other  hand,  whenever  it  was  her 
pleasure  to  appear  abroad,  as  on  Sundays  and  fete-days,  she 
would  put  on  some  very  brilliant-colored  dress,  usually  of  thin 
texture,  a  silk  bonnet  with  a  wreath  of  flowers,  and  a  very  fine 
shawl.  She  was  not,  in  the  main,  an  ill-natured  old  woman, 
but  an  incessant  and  most  indiscreet  talker ;  she  kept  chiefly  in 
and  about  the  kitchen,  and  seemed  rather  to  avoid  her  son's 
august  presence ;  of  him,  indeed,  she  evidently  stood  in  awe. 
When  he  reproved  her,  his  reproofs  were  bitter  and  unsparing ; 
but  he  seldom  gave  himself  that  trouble. 

Madame  Pelet  had  her  own  society,  her  own  circle  of  chosen 
visitors,  whom,  however,  I  seldom  saw,  as  she  generally  enter- 
tained them  in  what  she  called  her  "  cabinet,"  a  small  den  of  a 
place  adjoining  the  kitchen,  and  descending  into  it  by  one  or 
two  steps.  On  these  steps,  by-the-by,  I  have  not  unfrequently 
seen  Madame  Pelet  seated  with  a  trencher  on  her  knee,  engaged 
in  the  threefold  employment  of  eating  her  dinner,  gossiping  with 
her  favorite  servant,  the  housemaid,  and  scolding  her  antago- 
5 


66  THE  PROFESSOR. 

nist,  the  cook ;  she  never  dined,  and  seldom  indeed  took  any 
meal,  with  her  son ;  and  as  to  showing  her  face  at  the  boys' 
table,  that  was  quite  out  of  the  question.  These  details  will 
sound  very  odd  in  English  ears,  but  Belgium  is  not  England, 
and  its  ways  are  not  our  ways. 

Madame  Pelet's  habits  of  life,  then,  being  taken  into  con- 
sideration, I  was  a  good  deal  surprised  when,  one  Thursday 
evening  (Thursday  was  always  a  half-holiday),  as  I  was  sitting 
all  alone  in  my  apartment,  correcting  a  huge  pile  of  English 
and  Latin  exercises,  a  servant  tapped  at  the  door,  and,  on  its 
being  opened,  presented  Madame  Pelet's  compliments,  and  she 
would  be  happy  to  see  me  to  take  my  "  gouter  "  (a  meal  which 
answers  to  our  English  "  tea  ")  with  her  in  the  dining-room. 

"  Plait-il  ?"  said  I,  for  I  thought  I  must  have  misunderstood, 
the  message  and  invitation  were  so  unusual ;  the  same  words 
were  repeated.  I  accepted,  of  course,  and  as  I  descended  the 
stairs,  I  wondered  what  whim  had  entered  the  old  lady's  brain ; 
her  son  was  out — gone  to  pass  the  evening  at  the  Salle  of  the 
Grand  Harmonie  or  some  other  club  of  which  he  was  a  member. 
Just  as  I  laid  my  hand  on  the  handle  of  the  dining-room  door, 
a  queer  idea  glanced  across  my  mind. 

"  Surely  she's  not  going  to  make  love  to  me,"  said  I.  "  I've 
heard  of  old  Frenchwomen  doing  odd  things  in  that  line ;  and 
the  gouter  ?  They  generally  begin  such  affairs  with  eating  and 
drinking,  I  believe." 

There  was  a  fearful  dismay  in  this  suggestion  of  my  excited 
imagination,  and  if  I  had  allowed  myself  time  to  dwell  upon  it, 
I  should  no  doubt  have  cut  there  and  then,  rushed  back  to  my 
chamber,  and  bolted  myself  in ;  but  whenever  a  danger  or  a 
horror  is  veiled  with  uncertainty,  the  primary  wish  of  the  mind 
is  to  ascertain  first  the  naked  truth,  reserving  the  expedient  of 
flight  for  the  moment  when  its  dread  anticipation  shall  be  real- 
ized. I  turned  the  door-handle,  and  in  an  instant  had  crossed 
the  fatal  threshold,  closed  the  door  behind  me,  and  stood  in  the 
presence  of  Madame  Pelet. 

Gracious  heavens !  The  first  view  of  her  seemed  to  confirm 
my  worst  apprehensions.  There  she  sat,  dressed  out  in  a  light 
green  muslin  gown,  on  her  head  a  lace  cap  with  flourishing  red 
roses  in  the  frill.  Her  table  was  carefully  spread ;  there  were 


THE  PROFESSOR.  67 

fruit,  cakes,  and  coffee,  with  a  bottle  of  something — I  did  not 
know  what.  Already  the  cold  sweat  started  on  my  brow, 
already  I  glanced  back  over  my  shoulder  at  the  closed  door, 
when,  to  my  unspeakable  relief,  my  eye,  wandering  wildly  in 
the  direction  of  the  stove,  rested  upon  a  second  figure,  seated  in 
a  large  fauteuil  beside  it.  This  was  a  woman,  too,  and,  more- 
over, an  old  woman,  and  as  fat  and  rubicund  as  Madame  Pelet 
was  meagre  and  yellow ;  her  attire  was  likewise  very  fine,  and 
spring  flowers  of  different  hues  circled  in  a  bright  wreath  the 
crown  of  her  violet-colored  velvet  bonnet. 

I  had  only  time  to  make  these  general  observations  when 
Madame  Pelet,  coming  forward  with  what  she  intended  should 
be  a  graceful  and  elastic  step,  thus  accosted  me : — "Monsieur  is 
indeed  most  obliging  to  quit  his  books,  his  studies,  at  the  re- 
quest of  an  insignificant  person  like  me ;  will  Monsieur  com- 
plete his  kindness  by  allowing  me  to  present  him  to  my  dear 
friend  Madame  Reuter,  who  resides  in  the  neighboring  house — 
the  young  ladies'  school  ?" 

"  Ah  !"  thought  I,  "  I  knew  she  was  old,"  and  I  bowed  and 
took  my  seat.  Madame  Renter  placed  herself  at  the  table  oppo- 
site to  me. 

"  How  do  you  like  Belgium,  Monsieur  ?"  asked  she,  in  an 
accent  of  the  broadest  Bruxellois.  I  could  now  well  distin- 
guish the  difference  between  the  fine  and  pure  Parisian  utter- 
ance of  M.  Pelet,  for  instance,  and  the  guttural  enunciation  of 
the  Flamands.  I  answered  politely,  and  then  wondered  how  so 
coarse  and  clumsy  an  old  woman  as  the  one  before  me  should 
be  at  the  head  of  a  ladies'  seminary,  which  I  had  always  heard 
spoken  of  in  terms  of  high  commendation.  In  truth  there  was 
something  to  wonder  at.  Madame  Reuter  looked  more  like  a 
joyous,  free-living  old  Flemish  fermiere,  or  even  a  maitresse 
d'auberge,  than  a  staid,  grave,  rigid  directrice  de  pensionnat. 
In  general  the  continental,  or  at  least  the  Belgian,  old  women 
permit  themselves  a  license  of  manners,  speech,  and  aspect  such 
as  our  venerable  granddames  would  recoil  from  as  absolutely 
disreputable,  and  Madame  Reuter's  jolly  face  bore  evidence 
that  she  was  no  exception  to  the  rule  of  her  country  ;  there  was 
a  twinkle  and  leer  in  her  left  eye  ;  her  right  she  kept  habitually 
half  shut,  which  I  thought  very  odd  indeed.  After  several  vain 


68  THE  PROFESSOR. 

attempts  to  comprehend  the  motives  of  these  two  droll  old 
creatures  for  inviting  me  to  join  them  at  their  gouter,  I  at  last 
fairly  gave  it  up,  and  resigning  myself  to  inevitable  mystifica- 
tion, I  sat  and  looked  first  at  one,  then  at  the  other,  taking  care 
meantime  to  do  justice  to  the  comfitures,  cakes,  and  coffee,  with 
which  they  amply  supplied  me.  They,  too,  ate,  and  that  with  no 
delicate  appetite,  and  having  demolished  a  large  portion  of  the 
solids,  they  proposed  a  "petit  verre."  I  declined.  Not  so 
Mesdames  Pelet  and  Reuter ;  each  mixed  herself  what  I 
thought  rather  a  stiff  tumbler  of  punch,  and  placing  it  on  a 
stand  near  the  stove,  they  drew  up  their  chairs  to  that  conveni- 
ence, and  invited  me  to  do  the  same.  I  obeyed  ;  and  being 
seated  fairly  between  them,  I  was  thus  addressed,  first  by 
Madame  Pelet,  then  by  Madame  Reuter. 

"  We  will  now  speak  of  business,"  said  Madame  Pelet,  and 
she  went  on  to  make  an  elaborate  speech,  which,  being  inter- 
preted, was  to  the  effect  that  she  had  asked  for  the  pleasure  of 
my  company  that  evening  in  order  to  give  her  friend  Madame 
Reuter  an  opportunity  of  broaching  an  important  proposal, 
which  might  turn  out  greatly  to  my  advantage. 

"  Pourvu  que  vous  soyez  sage,"  said  Madame  Reuter,  "  et  a 
vrai  dire,  vous  en  avez  bien  Fair.  Take  one  drop  of  the  punch" 
(or  ponche,  as  she  pronounced  it)  ;  "  it  is  an  agreeable  and 
wholesome  beverage  after  a  full  meal." 

I  bowed,  but  again  declined  it.  She  went  on :  "I  feel,"  said 
she,  after  a  solemn  sip — "  I  feel  profoundly  the  importance  of 
the  commission  with  which  my  dear  daughter  has  entrusted  me, 
for  you  are  aware,  Monsieur,  that  it  is  my  daughter  who  directs 
the  establishment  in  the  next  house  ?" 

"  Ah !  I  thought  it  was  yourself,  Madame."  Though,  indeed, 
at  that  moment  I  recollected  that  it  was  called  Mademoiselle, 
not  Madame,  Renter's  pensionnat. 

"  I !  oh,  no !  I  manage  the  house  and  look  after  the  ser- 
vants, as  my  friend  Madame  Pelet  does  for  Monsieur  her  son — 
nothing  more.  Ah !  you  thought  I  gave  lessons  in  class — did 
you?" 

And  she  laughed  loud  and  long,  as  though  the  idea  tickled 
her  fancy  amazingly. 

"  Madame  is  in  the  wrong  to  laugh,"  I  observed ;  "  if  she 


THE  PROFESSOR.  69 

does  not  give  lessons,  I  am  sure  it  is  not  because  she  cannot ;" 
and  I  whipped  out  a  white  pocket-handkerchief  and  wafted 
it,  with  a  French  grace,  past  my  nose,  bowing  at  the  same 
time. 

"  Quel  charmant  jeunehomme !"  murmured  Madame  Pelet  in 
a  low  voice.  Madame  Renter,  being  less  sentimental,  as  she 
was  Flamand  and  not  French,  only  laughed  again. 

"You  are  a  dangerous  person,  I  fear,"  said  she;  "if  you  can 
forge  compliments  at  that  rate,  Zoraide  will  positively  be  afraid 
of  you  ;  but  if  you  are  good,  I  will  keep  your  secret,  and  not  tell 
her  how  well  you  can  flatter.  Now,  listen  what  sort  of  a  pro- 
posal she  makes  to  you.  She  has  heard  that  you  are  an  excel- 
lent professor,  and  as  she  wishes  to  get  the  very  best  masters  for 
her  school  (car  Zoraide  fait  tout  comme  une  reine,  c'est  une 
veritable  maitresse-femme),  she  has  commissioned  me  to  step 
over  this  afternoon,  and  sound  Madame  Pelet  as  to  the  possi- 
bility of  engaging  you.  Zoraide  is  a  wary  general ;  she  never 
advances  without  first  examining  well  her  ground.  I  don't 
think  she  would  be  pleased  if  she  knew  I  had  already  disclosed 
her  intentions  to  you  ;  she  did  not  order  me  to  go  so  far,  but  I 
thought  there  would  be  no  harm  in  letting  you  into  the  secret, 
and  Madame  Pelet  was  of  the  same  opinion.  Take  care,  how- 
ever, you  don't  betray  either  of  us  to  Zoraide — to  my  daughter,  - 
I  mean  ;  she  is  so  discreet  and  circumspect  herself,  she  can- 
not understand  that  one  should  find  a  pleasure  in  gossiping  a 
little " 

"  C'est  absolument  comme  mon  fils !"  cried  Madame  Pelet. 

"  All  the  world  is  so  changed  since  our  girlhood !"  rejoined 
the  other :  "  young  people  have  such  old  heads  now.  But  to  re- 
turn, Monsieur.  Madame  Pelet  will  mention  the  subject  of 
your  giving  lessons  in  my  daughter's  establishment  to  her  son, 
and  he  will  speak  to  you  ;  and  then  to-morrow,  you  will  step 
over  to  our  house,  and  ask  to  see  my  daughter,  and  you  will 
introduce  the  subject  as  if  the  first  intimation  of  it  had 
reached  you  from  M.  Pelet  himself,  and  be  sure  you  never 
mention  my  name,  for  I  would  not  displease  Zoraide  on  any  ac- 
count." 

"  Bien !  bien !"  interrupted  I — for  all  this  chatter  and  circum- 
locution began  to  bore  me  very  much  ;  "  I  will  consult  M.  Pelet 


70  THE  PROFESSOR. 

and  the  thing  shall  be  settled  as  you  desire.  Good-evening, 
Mesdames — I  am  infinitely  obliged  to  you." 

"Comment!  vous  vous  en  allez  deja?"  exclaimed  Madame 
Pelet. 

"  Prenez  encore  quelquechose,  Monsieur ;  une  pomrne  cuite, 
des  biscuits,  encore  une  tasse  de  cafe  ?" 

"  Merci,  merci,  Madame — au  revoir."  And  I  backed  at  last 
out  of  the  apartment. 

Having  regained  my  own  room,  I  set  myself  to  turn  over  in 
my  mind  the  incident  of  the  evening.  It  seemed  a  queer  affair 
altogether,  and  queerly  managed ;  the  two  old  women  had  made 
quite  a  little  intricate  mess  of  it ;  still  I  found  that  the  upper- 
most feeling  in  my  mind  on  the  subject  was  one  of  satisfaction. 
In  the  first  place  it  would  be  a  change  to  give  lessons  in  another 
seminary,  and  then  to  teach  young  ladies  would  be  an  occupa- 
tion so  interesting — to  be  admitted  at  all  into  a  ladies'  board- 
ing-school would  be  an  incident  so  new  in  my  life.  "  Besides," 
thought  I,  as  I  glanced  at  the  boarded  window,  "  I  shall  now 
at  last  see  the  mysterious  garden ;  I  shall  gaze  both  on  the 
angels  and  their  Eden." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

M  PELET  could  not  of  course  object  to  the  proposal 
.  made  by  Mdlle.  Reuter;  permission  to  accept  such 
additional  employment,  should  it  offer,  having  formed  an  article 
of  the  terms  on  which  he  had  engaged  me.  It  was  therefore 
arranged  in  the  course  of  the  next  day  that  I  should  be  at 
liberty  to  give  lessons  in  Mdlle.  Renter's  establishment  four 
afternoons  in  every  week. 

When  evening  came,  I  prepared  to  step  over  in  order  to  seek 
a  conference  with  Mademoiselle  herself  on  the  subject ;  I  had 
not  had  time  to  pay  the  visit  before,  having  been  all  day  closely 
occupied  in  class.  I  remember  very  weH  that  before  quitting 
my  chamber,  I  held  a  brief  debate  with  myself  as  to  whether  I 


THE  PROFESSOR.  71 

should  change  my  ordinary  attire  for  something  smarter.  At 
last  I  concluded  it  would  be  a  waste  of  labor.  "  Doubtless," 
thought  I,  "  she  is  some  stiff  old  maid  ;  for  though  the  daughter 
of  Madame  Reuter,  she  may  well  number  upwards  of  forty 
winters ;  besides,  if  it  were  otherwise,  if  she  be  both  young  and 
pretty,  I  am  not  handsome,  and  no  dressing  can  make  me  so, 
therefore  I'll  go  as  I  am."  And  off  I  started,  cursorily  glancing 
sideways  as  I  passed  the  toilet-table,  surmounted  by  a  looking- 
glass.  A  thin,  irregular  face  I  saw,  with  sunk,  dark  eyes  under 
a  large,  square  forehead,  complexion  destitute  of  bloom  or 
attraction ;  something  young,  but  not  youthful ;  no  object  to  win 
a  lady's  love,  no  butt  for  the  shafts  of  Cupid. 

I  was  soon  at  the  entrance  of  the  pensionnat,  in  a  moment  I 
had  pulled  the  bell ;  in  another  moment  the  door  was  opened, 
and  within  appeared  a  passage  paved  alternately  with  black  and 
white  marble ;  the  walls  were  painted  in  imitation  of  marble 
also ;  and  at  the  far  end  opened  a  glass  door,  through  which  I 
saw  shrubs  and  a  grass-plat,  looking  pleasant  in  the  sunshine 
of  the  mild  spring  evening — for  it  was  now  the  middle  of 
April. 

This,  then,  was  my  first  glimpse  of  the  garden  ;  but  I  had  not 
time  to  look  long ;  the  portress,  after  having  answered  in  the 
affirmative  my  question  as  to  whether  her  mistress  was  at  home, 
opened  the  folding-doors  of  a  room  to  the  left,  and  having 
ushered  me  in,  closed  them  behind  me.  I  found  myself  in  a 
salon  with  a  very  well-painted,  highly  varnished  floor ;  chairs 
and  sofas  covered  with  white  draperies,  a  green  porcelain  stove, 
walls  hung  with  pictures  in  gilt  frames,  a  gilt  pendule  and  other 
ornaments  on  the  mantelpiece,  a  large  lustre  pendent  from  the 
centre  of  the  ceiling,  mirrors,  consoles,  muslin  curtains,  and  a 
handsome  centre-table  completed  the  inventory  of  furniture. 
All  looked  extremely  clean  and  glittering,  but  the  generr.l 
effect  would  have  been  somewhat  chilling  had  not  a  second 
large  pair  of  folding-doors,  standing  wide  open  and  disclosing 
another  and  smaller  salon,  more  snugly  furnished,  offered  some 
relief  to  the  eye.  This  room  was  carpeted,  and  therein  was  a 
piano,  a  couch,  a  chiffonni^re — above  all,  it  contained  a  lofty 
window  with  a  crimson  curtain,  which,  being  undrawn,  afforded 
another  glimpse  of  the  garden,  through  the  large,  clear  panes, 


72  THE  PROFESSOR. 

round  which  some  leaves  of  ivy,  some  tendrils  of  vine  were 
trained. 

"  Monsieur  Creemsvort,  n'est-ce  pas  ?"  said  a  voice  behind 
me ;  and,  starting  involuntarily,  I  turned.  I  had  been  so  taken 
up  with  the  contemplation  of  the  pretty  little  salon,  that  I  had 
not  noticed  the  entrance  of  a  person  into  the  larger  room.  It 
was,  however,  Mdlle.  Renter  who  now  addressed  me,  and  stood 
close  beside  me ;  and  when  I  had  bowed  with  instantaneously 
recovered  sang-froid — for  I  am  not  easily  embarrassed — I  com- 
menced the  conversation  by  remarking  on  the  pleasant  aspect 
of  her  little  cabinet,  and  the  advantage  she  had  over  M.  Pelet 
in  possessing  a  garden. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  she  often  thought  so ;"  and  added,  "  it  is 
my  garden,  Monsieur,  which  makes  me  retain  this  house,  other- 
wise I  should  probably  have  removed  to  larger  and  more  com- 
modious premises  long  since ;  but  you  see  I  could  not  take  my 
garden  with  me,  and  I  should  scarcely  find  one  so  large  and 
pleasant  anywhere  else  in  town." 

I  approved  her  judgment. 

"  But  you  have  not  seen  it  yet,"  said  she,  rising ;  "  come  to 
the  window  and  take  a  better  view."  I  followed  her;  she 
opened  the  sash,  and  leaning  out  I  saw  in  full  the  enclosed 
demesne  which  had  hitherto  been  to  me  an  unknown  region. 
It  was  a  long,  not  very  broad  strip  of  cultured  ground,  with  an 
alley  bordered  by  enormous  old  fruit-trees  down  the  middle : 
there  was  a  sort  of  lawn,  a  parterre  of  rose-trees,  some  flower- 
borders,  and,  on  the  far  side,  a  thickly-planted  copse  of  lilacs, 
laburnums,  and  acacias.  It  looked  pleasant,  to  me — very 
pleasant,  so  long  a  time  had  elapsed  since  I  had  seen  a  garden 
of  any  sort.  But  it  was  not  only  on  Mdlle.  Reuter's  garden 
that  my  eyes  dwelt ;  when  I  had  taken  a  view  of  her  well- 
trimmed  beds  and  budding  shrubberies,  I  allowed  my  glance  to 
come  back  to  herself,  nor  did  I  hastily  withdraw  it. 

I  had  thought  to  see  a  tall,  meagre,  yellow,  conventual  image 
in  black,  with  a  close  white  cap,  bandaged  under  the  chin  like 
a  nun's  head-gear ;  whereas,  there  stood  by  me  a  little  and 
roundly-formed  woman,  who  might  indeed  be  older  than  I,  but 
was  still  young ;  she  could  not,  I  thought,  be  more  than  six  or 
seven  and  twenty ;  she  was  as  fair  as  a  fair  Englishwoman  ;  she 


THE  PROFESSOR.  73 

had  no  cap ;  her  hair  was  nut-brown,  and  she  wore  it  in  curls  ; 
pretty  her  features  were  not,  nor  very  soft,  nor  very  regular, 
but  neither  were  they  in  any  degree  plain,  and  I  already  saw 
cause  to  deem  them  expressive.  What  was  their  predominant 
cast?  Was  it  sagacity? — sense?  Yes,  I  thought  so;  but  I 
could  scarcely  as  yet  be  sure.  I  discovered,  however,  that  there 
was  a  serenity  of  eye,  and  freshness  of  complexion,  most  pleasing 
to  behold.  The  color  on  her  cheek  was  like  the  bloom  on  a  good 
apple,  which  is  as  sound  at  the  core  as  it  is  red  on  the  rind. 

Mdlle.  Renter  arid  I  entered  upon  business.  She  said  she 
was  not  absolutely  certain  of  the  wisdom  of  the  step  she  was 
about  to  take,  because  I  was  so  young,  and  parents  might  pos- 
sibly object  to  a  professor  like  me  for  their  daughters.  "  But 
it  is  often  well  to  act  on  one's  own  judgment,"  said  she,  "and  to 
lead  parents,  rather  than  be  led  by  them.  The  fitness  of  a  pro- 
fessor is  not  a  matter  of  age ;  and,  from  what  I  have  heard, 
and  from  what  I  observe  myself,  I  would  much  rather  trust  you 
than  M.  Ledru>the  music-master,  who  is  a  married  man  of  near 
fifty." 

I  remarked  that  I  hoped  she  would  find  me  worthy  of  her 
good  opinion ;  that  if  I  knew  myself,  I  was  incapable  of  betray- 
ing any  confidence  reposed  in  me.  "  Du  reste,"  said  she,  "  the 
surveillance  will  be  strictly  attended  to."  And  then  she  pro- 
ceeded to  discuss  the  subject  of  terms.  She  was  very  cautious, 
quite  on  her  guard ;  she  did  not  absolutely  bargain,  but  she 
warily  sounded  me  to  find  out  what  my  expectations  might  be  ; 
and  when  she  could  not  get  me  to  name  a  sum,  she  reasoned 
and  reasoned  with  a  fluent  yet  quiet  circumlocution  of  speech, 
and  at  last  nailed  me  down  to  five  hundred  francs  per  annum — 
not  too  much,  but  I  agreed.  Before  the  negotiation  was  com- 
pleted, it  began  to  grow  a  little  dusk.  I  did  not  hasten  it,  for 
I  liked  well  enough  to  sit  and  hear  her  talk  ;  I  was  amused  with 
the  sort  of  business  talent  she  displayed.  Edward  could  not- 
have  shown  himself  more  practical,  though  he  might  have 
evinced  more  coarseness  and  urgency;  and  then  she  had  so 
many  reasons,  so  many  explanations ;  and,  after  all,  she  suc- 
ceeded in  proving  herself  quite  disinterested  and  even  liberal. 
At  last  she  concluded  ;  she  could  say  no  more,  because,  as  I  ac- 
quiesced in  all  things,  there  was  no  further  ground  for  the  exer- 


74  THE  PROFESSOR. 

cise  of  her  parts  of  speech.  I  was  obliged  to  rise.  I  would 
rather  have  sat  a  little  longer :  what  had  I  to  return  to  but  my 
small  empty  room  ?  And  my  eyes  had  a  pleasure  in  looking 
at  Mdlle.  Reuter,  especially  now,  when  the  twilight  softened  her 
features  a  little,  and,  in  the  doubtful  dusk,  I  could  fancy  her 
forehead  as  open  as  it  was  really  elevated,  her  mouth  touched 
with  turns  of  sweetness  as  well  as  defined  in  lines  of  sense. 
When  I  rose  to  go,  I  held  out  my  hand,  on  purpose,  though  I 
knew  it  was  contrary  to  the  etiquette  of  foreign  habits ;  she 
smiled,  and  said — "Ah !  c'est  comme  tous  les  Anglais,"  but  gave 
me  her  hand  very  kindly. 

"  It  is  the  privilege  of  my  country,  Mademoiselle,"  said  I ; 
"  and  remember,  I  shall  always  claim  it." 

She  laughed  a  little,  quite  good-naturedly,  and  with  the  sort 
of  tranquillity  obvious  in  all  she  did — a  tranquillity  which 
soothed  and  suited  me  singularly,  at  least  I  thought  so  that 
evening.  Brussels  seemed  a  very  pleasant  place  to  me  when  I 
got  out  again  into  the  street,  and  it  appeared  as  if  some  cheer- 
ful, eventful,  upward-tending  career  were  even  then  opening 
to  me,  on  that  self-same  mild,  still,  April  night.  So  impres- 
sionable a  being  is  man,  or  at  least  such  a  man  as  I  was  in 
those  days. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"VTEXT  day  the  morning  hours  seemed  to  pass  very  slowly 
_1_M  at  M.  Pelet's.  I  wanted  the  afternoon  to  come,  that  I 
might  go  again  to  the  neighboring  pensionnat,  and  give  my 
first  lesson  within  its  pleasant  precincts;  for  pleasant  they 
appeared  to  me.  At  noon  the  hour  of  recreation  arrived  ;  at 
one  o'clock  we  had  lunch ;  thus  got  on  the  time,  and  at  last 
St.  Gudule's  deep  bell,  tolling  slowly  two,  marked  the  moment 
for  which  I  had  been  waiting. 

At  the  foot  of  the  narrow  back-stairs  that  descended  from  my 
room  I  met  M.  Pelet. 


THE  PROFESSOR.  75 

"  Comme  vous  avez  1'air  rayoniiant !"  said  he.  "  Je  ne  vous 
ai  jamais  vu  aussi  gai.  Que  s'est-il  done  passe?" 

"  Apparemment  que  j'aime  les  changemeuts,"  I  at  once 
replied. 

"  Ah  !  je  comprends — c'est  cela — soyez  sage  seulement.  Vous 
etes  bien  jeune — trop  jeune  pour  le  role  que  vous  allez  jouer ; 
il  faut  prendre  garde — savez-vous  ?" 

"  Mais  quel  danger  y  a-t-il  ?" 

"  Je  n'en  sais  rien — ne  vous  laissez  pas  aller  a  de  vives  im- 
pressions— voila  tout." 

I  laughed.  A  sentiment  of  exquisite  pleasure  played  over 
my  nerves  at  the  thought  that  "  vives  impressions"  were  likely 
to  be  created  ;  it  was  the  deadness,  the  sameness  of  life's  daily 
ongoings  that  had  hitherto  been  my  bane ;  my  blouse-clad 
e"l£ives  in  the  boys'  seminary  never  stirred  in  me  any  "  vives 
impressions,"  except  it  might  be  occasionally  some  of  anger. 
I  broke  from  M.  Pelet,  and  as  I  strode  down  the  passage,  he 
followed  me  with  one  of  his  laughs — a  very  French,  rakish, 
mocking  sound. 

Again  I  stood  at  the  neighboring  door,  and  soon  was  re-ad- 
mitted into  the  cheerful  passage  with  its  clear  dove-color  imita- 
tion marble  walls.  I  followed  the  portress,  and  descending  a 
step,  and  making  a  turn,  I  found  myself  in  a  sort  of  corridor. 
A  side  door  opened ;  Mdlle.  Router's  little  figure,  as  graceful  as 
it  was  plump,  appeared.  I  could  now  see  her  dress  in  full  day- 
light ;  a  neat,  simple  mousseline-laine  gown  fitted  her  compact 
round  shape  to  perfection — delicate  little  collar  and  manchettes 
of  lace,  trim  Parisian  brodequins  showed  her  neck,  wrists,  and 
feet,  to  complete  advantage  ;  but  how  grave  was  her  face  as  she 
came  suddenly  upon  me!  Solicitude  and  business  were  in  her 
eye — on  her  forehead ;  she  looked  almost  stern.  Her  "  Bon 
jour,  Monsieur,"  was  quite  polite,  but  so  orderly,  so  common- 
place, it  spread  directly  a  cool,  damp  towel  over  my  "  vives  im- 
pressions." The  servant  turned  back  when  her  mistress  ap- 
peared, and  I  walked  slowly  along  the  corridor,  side  by  side 
with  Mdlle.  Reuter. 

"  Monsieur  will  give  a  lesson  in  the  first  class  to-day,"  said 
she ;  "  dictation  or  reading  will  perhaps  be  the  best  thing  to  begin 
with,  for  those  are  the  easiest  forms  of  communicating  instruc- 


76  THE  PROFESSOR. 

tion  in  a  foreign  language ;  and  at  the  first  a  master  naturally 
feels  a  little  unsettled." 

She  was  quite  right,  as  I  had  found  from  experience ;  it  only 
remained  for  me  to  acquiesce.  We  proceeded  now  in  silence. 
The  corridor  terminated  in  a  hall,  large,  lofty,  and  square  ;  a 
glass  door  on  one  side  showed  within  a  long  narrow  refectory, 
with  tables,  an  armoire,  and  two  lamps  ;  it  was  empty ;  large 
glass  doors  in  front  opened  on  the  playground  and  garden  ;  a 
broad  staircase  ascended  spirally  on  the  opposite  side ;  the  re- 
maining wall  showed  a  pair  of  great  folding-doors,  now  closed, 
and  admitting,  doubtless,  to  the  classes. 

Mdlle.  Reuter  turned  her  eye  laterally  on  me,  to  ascertain, 
probably,  whether  I  was  collected  enough  to  be  ushered  into 
her  sanctum  sanctorum.  I  suppose  she  judged  me  to  be  in  a 
tolerable  state  of  self-government,  for  she  opened  the  door,  and 
I  followed  her  through.  A  rustling  sound  of  uprising  greeted 
our  entrance.  Without  looking  to  the  right  or  left,  I  walked 
straight  up  the  lane  between  two  sets  of  benches  and  desks,  and 
took  possession  of  the  empty  chair  and  isolated  desk  raised  on 
an  estrade,  of  one  step  high,  so  as  to  command  one  division  ; 
the  other  division  being  under  the  surveillance  of  a  maitrcsse 
similarly  elevated.  At  the  back  of  the  estrade,  and  attached 
to  a  movable  partition  dividing  this  schoolroom  from  another 
beyond,  was  a  large  tableau  of  wood  painted  black  and  var- 
nished ;  a  thick  crayon  of  white  chalk  lay  on  my  desk  for  the 
convenience  of  elucidating  any  grammatical  or  verbal  obscurity 
which  might  occur  in  my  lessons  by  writing  it  upon  the 
tableau ;  a  wet  sponge  appeared  beside  the  chalk,  to  enable  me 
to  efface  the  marks  when  they  had  served  the  purpose  intended. 

I  carefully  and  deliberately  made  these  observations  before 
allowing  myself  to  take  one  glance  at  the  benches  before  me  ; 
having  handled  the  crayon,  looked  back  at  the  tableau,  fingered 
the  sponge  in  order  to  ascertain  that  it  was  in  a  right  state  of 
moisture,  I  found  myself  cool  enough  to  admit  of  looking  calmly 
up  and  gazing  deliberately  round  me. 

And  first  I  observed  that  Mdlle.  Reuter  had  already  glided 
away,  she  was  nowhere  visible ;  a  maitresse  or  teacher,  the  one 
who  occupied  the  corresponding  estrade  to  my  own,  alone  re- 
mained to  keep  guard  over  me ;  she  was  a  little  in  the  shade, 


THE  PROFESSOR.  77 

and,  with  my  short  sight,  I  could  only  see  that  she  was  of  a 
thiii  bony  figure  and  rather  tallowy  complexion,  and  that  her 
attitude,  as  she  sat,  partook  equally  of  listlessness  and  affecta- 
tion. More  obvious,  more  prominent,  shone  on  by  the  full  light 
of  the  large  window,  were  the  occupants  of  the  benches  just 
before  me,  of  whom  some  were  girls  of  fourteen,  fifteen,  sixteen, 
some  young  women  from  eighteen  (as  it  appeared  to  me)  up  to 
twenty ;  the  most  modest  attire,  the  simplest  fashion  of  wearing 
the  hair,  were  apparent  in  all ;  and  good  features,  ruddy,  bloom- 
ing complexions,  large  and  brilliant  eyes,  forms  full,  even  to 
solidity,  seemed  to  abound.  I  did  not  bear  the  first  view  like 
a  stoic ;  I  was  dazzled,  my  eyes  fell,  and  in  a  voice  somewhat 
too  low  I  murmured — "  Prenez  vos  cahiers  de  dictee,  Mesde- 
moiselles." 

Not  so  had  I  bid  the  boys  at  Pelet's  take  their  reading-books. 
A  rustle  followed,  and  an  opening  of  desks :  behind  the  lifted 
lids  which  momentarily  screened  the  heads  bent  down  to  search 
for  exercise  books,  I  heard  tittering  and  whispers. 

"  Eulalie,  je  suis  prete  a  pamer  de  rire,"  observed  one. 

"  Comme  il  a  rougi  en  parlant !" 

"  Oui,  c'est  un  veritable  blanc-bec." 

"  Tais-toi,  Hortense — il  nous  ecoute." 

And  now  the  lids  sank  and  the  heads  reappeared ;  I  had 
marked  three,  the  whisperers,  and  I  did  not  scruple  to  take  a 
very  steady  look  at  them  as  they  emerged  from  their  temporary 
eclipse.  It  is  astonishing  what  ease  and  courage  their  little 
phrases  of  flippancy  had  given  me ;  the  idea  by  which  I  had 
been  awed  was  that  the  youthful  beings  before  me,  with  their 
dark  nun-like  robes  and  softly-braided  hair,  were  a  kind  of 
half-angels.  The  light  titter,  the  giddy  whisper,  had  already 
in  some  measure  relieved  my  mind  of  that  fond  and  oppressive 
faucy. 

The  three  I  alluded  to  were  just  in  front,  within  half  a  yard 
of  my  estrade,  and  were  among  the  most  womanly-looking 
present.  Their  names  I  knew  afterwards,  and  may  as  well 
mention  now ;  they  were  Eulalie,  Hortense,  Caroline.  Eulalie 
was  tall,  and  very  finely  shaped  :  she  was  fair,  and  her  features 
were  those  of  a  Low  Country  Madonna ;  many  a  "  figure  de 
Vierge  "  have  I  seen  in  Dutch  pictures  exactly  resembling  hers ; 


78  THE  PROFESSOR. 

there  were  no  angles  in  her  shape  or  in  her  face,  all  was  curve 
and  roundness — neither  thought,  sentiment,  nor  passion  disturbed 
by  line  or  flush  the  equality  of  her  pale,  clear  skin ;  her  noble 
bust  heaved  with  her  regular  breathing,  her  eyes  moved  a  little 
— by  these  evidences  of  life  alone  could  I  have  distinguished 
her  from  some  large  handsome  figure  moulded  in  wax.  Hor- 
tense  was  of  middle  size  and  stout,  her  form  was  ungraceful, 
her  face  striking,  more  alive  and  brilliant  than  Eulalie's ;  her 
hair  was  dark  brown,  her  complexion  richly  colored ;  there 
were  frolic  and  mischief  in  her  eye :  consistency  and  good  sense 
she  might  possess,  but  none  of  her  features  betokened  those 
qualities. 

Caroline  was  little,  though  evidently  full  grown ;  raven  black 
hair,  very  dark  eyes,  absolutely-regular  features,  with  a  color- 
less olive  complexion,  clear  as  to  the  face  and  sallow  about  the 
neck,  formed  in  her  that  assemblage  of  points  whose  union 
many  persons  regard  as  the  perfection  of  beauty.  How,  with 
the  tintless  pallor  of  her  skin  and  the  classic  straightness  of 
her  lineaments,  she  managed  to  look  sensual,  I  don't  know.  I 
think  her  lips  and  eyes  contrived  the  affair  between  them,  and 
the  result  left  no  uncertainty  on  the  beholder's  mind.  She  was 
sensual  now,  and  in  ten  years'  time  she  would  be  coarse — 
promise  plain  was  written  in  her  face  of  much  future  folly. 

If  I  looked  at  these  girls  with  little  scruple,  they  looked  at 
me  with  still  less.  Eulalie  raised  her  unmoved  eye  to  mine, 
and  seemed  to  expect,  passively  but  securely,  an  impromptu 
tribute  to  her  majestic  charms.  Hortense  regarded  me  boldly, 
and  giggled  at  the  same  time,  while  she  said,  with  an  air  of  im- 
pudent freedom — "  Dictez-nous  quelquechose  de  facile  pour  com- 
mencer,  Monsieur." 

Caroline  shook  her  loose  ringlets  of  abundant  but  somewhat 
coarse  hair  over  her  rolling  black  eyes ;  parting  her  lips,  as  full 
as  those  of  a  hot-blooded  Maroon,  she  showed  her  well-set  teeth 
sparkling  between  them,  and  treated  me  at  the  same  time  to  a 
smile  "  de  sa  fa9on."  Beautiful  as  Pauline  Borghese,  she 
looked  at  the  moment  scarcely  purer  than  Lucrece  de  Borgia. 
Caroline  was  of  noble  family.  I  heard  her  lady-mother's  char- 
acter afterwards,  and  then  I  ceased  to  wonder  at  the  precocious 
accomplishments  of  the  daughter.  These  three,  I  at  once  saw, 


THE  PROFESSOR.  79 

deemed  themselves  the  queens  of  the  school,  and  conceived  that 
by  their  splendor  they  threw  all  the  rest  into  the  shade.  In 
less  than  five  minutes  they  had  thus  revealed  to  me  their  char- 
acters, and  in  less  than  five  minutes  I  had  buckled  on  a  breast- 
plate of  steely  indifference,  and  let  down  a  visor  of  impassible 
austerity. 

"  Take  your  pens  and  commence  writing,"  said  I,  in  as  dry 
and  trite  a  voice  as  if  I  had  been  addressing  only  Jules  Vander- 
kelkov  and  Co. 

The  dictee  now  commenced.  My  three  belles  interrupted  me 
perpetually  with  little  silly  questions  and  uncalled-for  remarks, 
to  some  of  which  I  made  no  answer,  and  to  others  replied  very 
quietly  and  briefly. 

"  Comment  dit-on  point  et  virgule  en  Anglais,  Monsieur  ?" 

"  Semi-colon,  Mademoiselle." 

"  Semi-collong  ?     Ah,  comme  c'est  drole !"  (giggle.) 

"  J'ai  une  si  mauvaise  plume — impossible  d'ecrire !" 

"  Mais,  Monsieur — je  ne  sais  pas  suivre — vous  allez  si  vite." 

"  Je  n'ai  rien  compris,  moi !" 

Here  a  general  murmur  arose,  and  the  teacher,  opening  her 
lips  for  the  first  time,  ejaculated — "  Silence, Mesdemoiselles !" 

No  silence  followed — on  the  contrary,  the  three  ladies  in. 
front  began  to  talk  more  loudly. 

"  C'est  si  difficile,  1' Anglais !" 

"  Je  deteste  la  dicte"e." 

"Quel  ennui  d'ecrire  quelquechose  que  Ton  ne  comprend 
pas !" 

Some  of  those  behind  laughed :  a  degree  of  confusion  began 
to  pervade  the  class ;  it  was  necessary  to  take  prompt  measures. 

"  Donnez-moi  votre  cahier,"  said  I  to  Eulalie,  in  an  abrupt 
tone ;  and  bending  over,  I  took  it  before  she  had  time  to  give 
it. 

"  Et  vous,  Mademoiselle — donnez-moi  le  v6tre,"  continued  I, 
more  mildly,  addressing  a  little  pale,  plain-looking  girl  who  sat 
in  the  first  row  of  the  other  division,  and  whom  I  had  remarked 
as  being  at  once  the  ugliest  and  the  most  attentive  in  the  room ; 
she  rose  up,  walked  over  to  me,  and  delivered  her  book  with  a 
grave,  modest  curtsey.  I  glanced  over  the  two  dictations; 
Eulalie's  was  slurred,  blotted,  and  full  of  silly  mistakes — Syl- 


80  THE  PROFESSOR. 

vie's  (such  was  the  name  of  the  ugly  little  girl)  was  clearly 
written  ;  it  contained  no  error  against  sense,  and  but  few  faults 
of  orthography.  I  coolly  read  aloud  both  exercises,  marking 
the  faults — then  I  looked  at  Eulalie. 

"  C'est  honteux,"  said  I,  and  I  deliberately  tore  her  dictation 
in  four  parts,  and  presented  her  with  the  fragments.  I  returned 
Sylvie  her  book  with  a  smile,  saying — "C'est  bien — je  suis  con- 
tent de  vous." 

Sylvie  looked  calmly  pleased ;  Eulalie  swelled  like  an  incensed 
turkey ;  but  the  mutiny  was  quelled :  the  conceited  coquetry  and 
futile  flirtation  of  the  first  bench  were  exchanged  for  a  taciturn 
sullenness,  much  more  convenient  to  me,  and  the  rest  of  my 
lesson  passed  without  interruption. 

A  bell  clanging  out  in  the  yard  announced  the  moment  for 
the  cessation  of  school  labors.  I  heard  our  own  bell  at  the 
same  time,  and  that  of  a  certain  public  college  immediately 
after.  Order  dissolved  instantly ;  up  started  every  pupil ;  I 
hastened  to  seize  my  hat,  bow  to  the  maitresse,  and  quit  the  room 
before  the  tide  of  externats  should  pour  from  the  inner  class, 
where  I  knew  near  a  hundred  were  prisoned,  and  whose  rising 
tumult  I  already  heard. 

I  had  scarcely  crossed  the  hall  and  gained  the  corridor,  when 
Mdlle.  Reuter  came  again  upon  me. 

"  Step  in  here  a  moment,"  said  she,  and  she  held  open  the 
door  of  the  side  room  from  whence  she  had  issued  on  my  arri- 
val ;  it  was  a  salle-a-manger,  as  appeared  from  the  buffet  and 
the  armoire  vitre"e,  filled  with  glass  and  china,  which  formed 
part  of  its  furniture.  Ere  she  had  closed  the  door  on  me  and 
herself,  the  corridor  was  already  filled  with  day-pupils,  tearing 
down  their  cloaks,  bonnets,  and  cabas  from  the  wooden  pegs  on 
which  they  were  suspended;  the  shrill  voice  of  a  maitresse  was 
heard  at  intervals  vainly  endeavoring  to  enforce  some  sort  of 
order ;  vainly,  I  say  :  discipline  there  was  none  in  these  rough 
ranks,  and  yet  this  was  considered  one  of  the  best-conducted 
schools  in  Brussels. 

"  Well,  you  have  given  your  first  lesson,"  began  Mdlle. 
Eeuter  in  the  most  calm,  equable  voice,  as  though  quite  uncon- 
scious of  the  chaos  from  which  we  were  separated  only  by  a 
single  wall. 


THE  PROFESSOR.  81 

"Were  you  satisfied  with  your  pupils,  or  did  any  circum- 
stance in  their  conduct  give  you  cause  for  complaint?  Conceal 
nothing  from  me ;  repose  in  me  entire  confidence." 

Happily,  I  felt  in  myself  complete  power  to  manage  my 
pupils  without  aid ;  the  enchantment,  the  golden  haze  which 
had  dazzled  my  perspicuity  at  first,  had  been  a  good  deal  dissi- 
pated. I  cannot  say  I  was  chagrined  or  downcast  by  the  con- 
trast which  the  reality  of  a  pensionnat  de  demoiselles  presented 
to  my  vague  ideal  of  the  same  community  ;  I  was  only  enlight- 
ened and  amused ;  consequently,  I  felt  no  disposition  to  com- 
plain to  Mdlle.  Reuter,  and  I  received  her  considerate  invitation 
to  confidence  with  a  smile. 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  Mademoiselle,  all  has  gone  very 
smoothly." 

She  looked  more  than  doubtful. 

"  Et  les  trois  demoiselles  du  premier  bane  ?"  said  she. 

"  Ah !  tout  va  au  mieux !"  was  my  answer,  and  Mdlle.  Reuter 
ceased  to  question  me ;  but  her  eye — not  large,  not  brilliant, 
not  melting,  or  kindling,  but  astute,  penetrating,  practical, 
showed  she  was  even  with  me  ;  it  let  out  a  momentary  gleam, 
which  said  plainly  "  Be  as  close  as  you  like,  I  am  not  depend- 
ent on  your  candor  ;  what  you  would  conceal  I  already  know." 

By  a  transition  so  quiet  as  to  be  scarcely  perceptible,  the 
directress's  manner  changed  ;  the  anxious,  business  air  passed 
from  her  face,  and  she  began  chatting  about  the  weather  and 
the  town,  and  asking  in  neighborly  wise  after  M.  and  Madame 
Pelet.  I  answered  all  her  little  questions ;  she  prolonged  her 
talk  ;  I  went  on  following  its  many  little  windings ;  she  sat  so 
long,  said  so  much,  varied  so  often  the  topics  of  discourse,  that 
it  was  not  difficult  to  perceive  she  had  a  particular  aim  in  thus 
detaining  me.  Her  mere  words  could  have  afforded  no  clue 
to  this  aim,  but  her  countenance  aided  ;  while  her  lips  uttered 
only  affable  commonplaces,  her  eyes  reverted  continually  to  my 
face.  Her  glances  were  not  given  in  full,  but  out  of  the  cor- 
ners, so  quietly,  so  stealthily,  yet  I  think  I  lost  not  one.  I 
watched  her  as  keenly  as  she  watched  me.  I  perceived  soon 
that  she  was  feeling  after  my  real  character  ;  she  was  searching 
for  salient  points,  and  weak  points,  and  eccentric  points ;  she 
was  applying  now  this  test,  now  that,  hoping  in  the  end  to  find 
6 


82  THE  PROFESSOR. 

some  chink,  some  niche,  where  she  could  put  in  her  little  firm 
foot  and  stand  upon  my  neck — mistress  of  my  nature.  Do  not 
mistake  me,  reader ;  it  was  no  amorous  influence  she  wished  to 
gain, — at  that  time  it  was  only  the  power  of  the  politician  to 
which,  she  aspired.  I  was  now  installed  as  a  professor  in  her 
establishment,  and  she  wanted  to  know  where  her  mind  was 
superior  to  mine, — by  what  feeling  or  opinion  she  could  lead 
me. 

I  enjoyed  the  game  much,  and  did  not  hasten  its  conclusion  ; 
sometimes  I  gave  her  hopes,  beginning  a  sentence  rather  weakly, 
when  her  shrewd  eye  would  light  up — she  thought  she  had  me  ; 
having  led  her  a  little  way,  I  delighted  to  turn  round  and  finish 
with  sound,  hard  sense,  whereat  her  countenance  would  fall. 
At  last  a  servant  entered  to  announce  dinner ;  the  conflict  being 
thus  necessarily  terminated,  we  parted  without  having  gained 
any  advantage  on  either  side.  Mdlle.  had  not  even  given  me 
an  opportunity  of  attacking  her  with  feeling,  and  I  had  man- 
aged to  baffle  her  little  schemes  of  craft.  It  was  a  regular 
drawn  battle.  I  again  held  out  my  hand  when  I  left  the  room  ; 
she  gave  me  hers ;  it  was  a  small  and  white  hand,  but  how 
cool !  I  met  her  eye,  too,  in  full,  obliging  her  to  give  me  a 
straightforward  look.  This  last  test  went  against  me.  It  left 
her  as  it  found  her — moderate,  temperate,  tranquil ;  me  it  dis- 
appointed. 

"  I  am  growing  wiser,"  thought  I,  as  I  walked  back  to  M. 
Pelet's.  "  Look  at  this  little  woman  ;  is  she  like  the  women  of 
novelists  and  romancers  ?  To  read  of  female  character  as  de- 
picted in  poetry  and  fiction,  one  would  think  it  was  made  up  of 
sentiment,  either  for  good  or  bad :  here  is  a  specimen,  and  a 
most  sensible  and  respectable  specimen,  too,  whose  staple  ingre- 
dient is  abstract  reason.  No  Talleyrand  was  ever  more  passion- 
less than  Zoraide  Renter !"  So  I  thought  then  ;  I  found  after- 
wards that  blunt  susceptibilities  are  very  consistent  with  strong 
propensities. 


THE  PROFESSOR.  83 


CHAPTER    XL 

I  HAD  indeed  had  a  very  long  talk  with  the  crafty  little 
politician,  and  on  regaining  my  quarters,  I  found  that 
dinner  was  half  over.  To  be  late  at  meals  was  against  a  standing 
rule  of  the  establishment,  and  had  it  been  one  of  the  Flemish 
ushers  who  thus  entered  after  the  removal  of  the  soup  and  the 
commencement  of  the  first  course,  M.  Pelet  would  probably 
have  greeted  him  with  a  public  rebuke,  and  would  certainly  have 
mulcted  him  both  of  soup  and  fish  :  as  it  was,  that  polite  though 
partial  gentleman  only  shook  his  head,  and  as  I  took  my  place, 
unrolled  my  napkin,  and  said  my  heretical  grace  to  myself,  he 
civilly  despatched  a  servant  to  the  kitchen,  to  bring  me  a  plate 
of  "  puree  aux  carottes"  (for  this  was  a  maigre  day),  and  before 
sending  away  the  first  course,  reserved  for  me  a  portion  of  the 
stock-fish  of  which  it  consisted.  Dinner  being  over,  the  boys 
rushed  out  for  their  evening  play ;  Kint  and  Vandam  (the  two 
ushers)  of  course  followed  them.  Poor  fellows !  if  they  had 
not  looked  so  very  heavy,  so  very  soulless,  so  very  indifferent  to 
all  things  in  heaven  above  or  in  the  earth  beneath,  I  could  have 
pitied  them  greatly  for  the  obligation  they  were  under  to  trail 
after  those  rough  lads  everywhere  and  at  all  times ;  even  as  it 
was,  I  felt  disposed  to  scout  myself  as  a  privileged  prig  when  I 
turned  to  ascend  to  my  chamber,  sure  to  find  there,  if  not  en- 
joyment, at  least  liberty ;  but  this  evening  (as  had  often  hap- 
pened before)  I  was  to  be  still  further  distinguished. 

"  Eh  bien,  mauvais  sujet !"  said  the  voice  of  M.  Pelet  behind 
me,  as  I  set  my  foot  on  the  first  step  of  the  stair,  "  ou  allez-vous? 
Venez  a  la  salle-a-manger,  que  je  vous  gronde  un  peu." 

"  I  beg  pardon,  Monsieur,"  said  I,  as  I  followed  him  to  his 
private  sitting-room,  "  for  having  returned  so  late — it  was  not 
my  fault." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  want  to  know,"  rejoined  M.  Pelet,  as  he 
ushered  me  into  the  comfortable  parlor  with  a  good  wood-fire — 
for  the  stove  had  now  been  removed  for  the  season.  Having 
rung  the  bell,  he  ordered  "  Coffee  for  two,"  and  presently  he  and 


84  THE  PROFESSOR. 

I  were  seated,  almost  in  English  comfort,  one  on  each  side  of  the 
hearth,  a  little  round  table  between  us,  with  a  coffee-pot,  a 
sugar-basin,  and  two  large  white  china  cups.  "While  M.  Pelet 
employed  himself  in  choosing  a  cigar  from  a  box,  my  thoughts 
reverted  to  the  two  outcast  ushers,  whose  voices  I  could  hear 
even  now  crying  hoarsely  for  order  in  the  playground. 

"C'est  une  grande  responsabilite'  que  la  surveillance,"  ob- 
served I. 

"  Plait-il?"  said  M.  Pelet. 

I  remarked  that  I  thought  Messieurs  Vandam  and  Kint  must 
sometimes  be  a  little  fatigued  with  their  labors. 

"Des  betes  de  somme, — des  betes  de  somme,"  murmured 
scornfully  the  director.  Meantime  I  offered  him  his  cup  of 
coffee. 

"  Servez-vous,  mon  gargon,"  said  he  blandly,  when  I  had  put 
a  couple  of  huge  lumps  of  continental  sugar  in  his  cup.  "  And 
now  tell  me  why  you  stayed  so  long  at  Mdlle.  Renter's.  I 
know  that  lessons  conclude,  in  her  establishment  as  in  mine,  at 
four  o'clock,  and  when  you  returned  it  was  past  five." 

"  Mdlle.  wished  to  speak  with  me,  Monsieur." 

"  Indeed !  on  what  subject,  if  one  may  ask  ?" 

"  Mademoiselle  talked  about  nothing,  Monsieur." 

"A  fertile  topic!  And  did  she  discourse  thereon  in  the 
schoolroom,  before  the  pupils  ?" 

"  No ;  like  you,  Monsieur,  she  asked  me  to  walk  into  her 
parlor." 

"  And  Madame  Reuter — the  old  duenna — my  mother's  gossip, 
was  there,  of  course  ?" 

"  No,  Monsieur ;  I  had  the  honor  of  being  quite  alone  with 
Mademoiselle." 

"C'est  joli — cela,"  observed  M.  Pelet,  and  he  smiled  and 
looked  into  the  fire. 

"  Honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense,"  murmured  I,  significantly. 

"  Je  connais  un  peu  ma  petite  voisine,  voyez-vous." 

"  In  that  case,  Monsieur  will  be  able  to  aid  me  in  finding  out 
what  was  Mademoiselle's  reason  for  making  me  sit  before  her 
sofa  one  mortal  hour,  listening  to  the  most  copious  and  fluent 
dissertation  on  the  merest  frivolities." 

"  She  was  sounding  your  character." 


THE  PROFESSOR.  85 

"  I  thought  so,  Monsieur." 

"  Did  she  find  out  your  weak  point  ?" 

"  What  is  my  weak  point  ?" 

"  Why,  the  sentimental.  Any  woman  sinking  her  shaft  deep 
enough,  will  at  last  reach  a  fathomless  spring  of  sensibility  in 
thy  breast,  Crimsworth." 

I  felt  the  blood  stir  about  my  heart  and  rise  warm  to  my 
cheek. 

"  Some  women  might,  Monsieur." 

"  Is  Mdlle.  Renter  of  the  number  ?  Come,  speak  frankly, 
mon  fils  ;  elle  est  encore  jeune,  plus  agee  que  toi  peut-etre,  mais 
juste  assez  pour  unir  la  tendresse  d'une  petite  maman  a 
1'amour  d'une  epouse  de"vouee ;  n'est-ce  pas  que  cela  t'irait 
superieurement  ?" 

"  No,  Monsieur ;  I  should  like  my  wife  to  be  my  wife,  and 
not  half  my  mother." 

"  She  is,  then,  a  little  too  old  for  you  ?" 

"  No,  Monsieur  ;  not  a  day  too  old  if  she  suited  me'  in  other 
things." 

"  In  what  does  she  not  suit  you,  William  ?  She  is  personally 
agreeable,  is  she  not  ?" 

"  Very ;  her  hair  and  complexion  are  just  what  I  admire  ; 
and  her  turn  of  form,  though  quite  Belgian,  is  full  of  grace." 

"  Bravo  !  and  her  face  ?  her  features  ?  How  do  you  like 
them  ?" 

""  A  little  harsh,  especially  her  mouth." 

"  Ah,  yes !  her  mouth,"  said  M.  Pelet,  and  he  chuckled  in- 
wardly. "  There  is  character  about  her  mouth — firmness — but 
she  has  a  very  pleasant  smile  ;  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Rather  crafty." 

"  True ;  but  that  expression  of  craft  is  owing  to  her  eyebrows  ; 
have  you  remarked  her  eyebrows  ?" 

I  answered  that  I  had  not. 

"  You  have  not  seen  her  looking  down,  then  ?"  said  he. 

"  No." 

"  It  is  a  treat,  notwithstanding.  Observe  her  when  she  has 
some  knitting,  or  some  other  woman's  work  in  hand,  and  sits 
the  image  of  peace,  calmly  intent  on  her  needles  and  her  silk, 
some  discussion  meantime  going  on  around  her,  in  the  course 


86  THE  PROFESSOR. 

of  which  peculiarities  of  character  are  being  developed,  or 
important  interests  canvassed.  She  takes  no  part  in  it;  her 
humble,  feminine  mind  is  wholly  with  her  knitting ;  none  of  her 
features  move;  she  neither  presumes  to  smile  approval  nor 
frown  disapprobation ;  her  little  hands  assiduously  ply  their 
unpretending  task  ;  if  she  can  only  get  this  purse  finished,  or 
this  bonnet-grec  completed,  it  is  enough  for  her.  If  gentlemen 
approach  her  chair,  a  deeper  quiescence,  a  meeker  modesty, 
settles  on  her  features,  and  clothes  her  general  mien ;  observe 
then  her  eyebrows,  et  dites-moi  s'il  n'y  a  pas  du  chat  dans  Fun 
et  du  renard  dans  1'autre." 

"  I  will  take  careful  notice  the  first  opportunity,"  said  I. 

"  And  then,"  continued  M.  Pelet,  "  the  eyelid  will  flicker,  the 
light-colored  lashes  be  lifted  a  second,  and  a  blue  eye,  glancing 
out  from  under  the  screen,  will  take  its  brief,  sly,  searching  sur- 
vey, and  retreat  again." 

I  smiled,  and  so  did  Pelet,  and  after  a  few  minutes'  silence,  I 
asked,  "  Will  she  ever  marry,  do  you  think  ?" 

"  Marry !  Will  birds  pair  ?  Of  course  it  is  both  her  inten- 
tion and  resolution  to  marry  when  she  finds  a  suitable  match, 
and  no  one  is  better  aware  than  herself  of  the  sort  of  impression 
she  is  capable  of  producing  ;  no  one  likes  better  to  captivate 
in  a  quiet  way.  I  am  mistaken  if  she  will  not  yet  leave  the 
print  of  her  stealing  steps  on  thy  heart,  Crimsworth." 

"  Of  her  steps  ?  Confound  it,  no  !  My  heart  is  not  a  plank 
to  be  walked  on." 

"But  the  soft  touch  of  a  patte  de  velours  will  do  it  no 
harm." 

"  She  offers  me  no  patte  de  velours  ;  she  is  all  form  and  re- 
serve with  me." 

"  That  to  begin  with.  Let  respect  be  the  foundation,  affection 
the  first  floor,  love  the  superstucture  ;  Mdlle.  Reuter  is  a  skilful 
architect." 

"  And  interest,  M.  Pelet — interest  ?  Will  not  Mademoiselle 
consider  that  point  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  no  doubt ;  it  will  be  the  cement  between  every 
stone.  And  now  we  have  discussed  the  directress,  what  of 
the  pupils?  N'y  a-t-il  pas  de  belles  Etudes  parmi  ces  jeunes 
te-tes?" 


THE  PROFESSOR.  87 

"  Studies  of  character  ?  Yes  ;  curious  ones,  at  least,  I  imagine  ; 
but  one  cannot  divine  much  from  a  first  interview." 

"Ah,  you  affect  discretion  ;  but  tell  me  now,  were  you  not  a 
little  abashed  before  those  blooming  young  creatures  ?" 

"  At  first,  yes ;  but  I  rallied,  and  got  through  with  all  due 
sang-froid." 

"  I  don't  believe  you." 

"  It  is  true,  notwithstanding.  At  first  I  thought  them 
angels,  but  they  did  not  leave  me  long  under  that  delusion ; 
three  of  the  eldest  and  handsomest  undertook  the  task  of  setting 
me  right,  and  they  managed  so  cleverly  that  in  five  minutes 
I  knew  them,  at  least,  for  what  they  were — three  arrant 
coquettes." 

"  Je  les  connais!"  exclaimed  M.  Pelet.  "Elles  sont  toujours 
au  premier  rang  a  Peglise  et  a  la  promenade;  une  blonde 
superbe,  une  jolie  espiegle,  une  belle  brune." 

"  Exactly." 

"  Lovely  creatures  all  of  them — heads  for  artists  ;  what  a 
group  they  would  make,  taken  together !  Eulalie  (I  know 
their  names),  with  her  smooth  braided  hair  and  calm  ivory 
brow.  Hortense,  with  her  rich  chestnut  locks  so  luxuriantly 
knotted,  plaited,  twisted,  as  if  she  did  not  know  how  to  dispose 
of  all  their  abundance,  with  her  vermilion  lips,  damask  cheek, 
and  roguish  laughing  eye.  And  Caroline  de  Ble"mont!  Ah, 
there  is  beauty  !  beauty  in  perfection.  What  a  cloud  of  sable 
curls  about  the  face  of  a  houri !  "What  fascinating  lips ! 
What  glorious  black  eyes !  Your  Byron  would  have  wor- 
shipped her,  and  you — you  cold,  frigid  islander ! — you  played 
the  austere,  the  insensible,  in  the  presence  of  an  Aphrodite  so 
exquisite  ?" 

I  might  have  laughed  at  the  director's  enthusiasm  had  I  be- 
lieved it  real,  but  there  was  something  in  his  tone  which  indi- 
cated got-up  raptures.  I  felt  he  was  only  affecting  fervor  in 
order  to  put  me  off  my  guard,  to  induce  me  to  come  out  in  re- 
turn, so  I  scarcely  even  smiled.  He  went  on  : — "  Confess,  Wil- 
liam, do  not  the  mere  good  looks  of  Zoraide  Reuter  appear  dow- 
dyish and  commonplace  compared  with  the  splendid  charms  of 
some  of  her  pupils  ?" 

The  question  discomposed  me,  but  I  now  felt  plainly  that  my 


88  THE  PROFESSOR. 

principal  was  endeavoring  (for  reasons  best  known  to  himself — 
at  that  time  I  could  not  fathom  them)  to  excite  ideas  and 
wishes  in  my  mind  alien  to  what  was  right  and  honorable.  The 
iniquity  of  the  instigation  proved  its  antidote,  and  when  he  fur- 
ther added : — "  Each  of  those  three  beautiful  girls  will  have  a 
handsome  fortune ;  and  with  a  little  address,  a  gentlemanlike, 
intelligent  young  fellow  like  you  might  make  himself  master  of 
the  hand,  heart,  and  purse  of  any  one  of  the  trio." 

I  replied  by  a  look  and  an  interrogative  "  Monsieur  ?"  which 
startled  him. 

He  laughed  a  forced  laugh,  affirmed  that  he  had  only  been 
joking,  and  demanded  whether  I  could  possibly  have  thought 
him  in  earnest.  Just  then  the  bell  rang ;  the  play-hour  was 
over  ;  it  was  an  evening  on  which  M.  Pelet  was  accustomed  to 
read  passages  from  the  drama  and  the  belles  lettres  to  his  pupils. 
He  did  not  wait  for  my  answer,  but  rising,  left  the  room,  hum- 
ming as  he  went  some  gay  strain  of  Be'ranger's. 


CHAPTER     XII. 

DAILY,  as  I  continued  my  attendance  at  the  seminary  of 
Mdlle.  Reuter,  did  I  find  fresh  occasions  to  compare  the 
ideal  with  the  real.  What  had  I  known  of  female  character 
previously  to  my  arrival  at  Brussels?  Precious  little.  And 
what  was  my  notion  of  it  ?  Something  vague,  slight,  gauzy, 
glittering ;  now  when  I  came  in  contact  with  it,  I  found  it  to 
be  a  palpable  substance  enough  ;  very  hard  too,  sometimes,  and 
often  heavy ;  there  was  metal  in  it,  both  lead  and  iron. 

Let  the  idealists,  the  dreamers  about  earthly  angels  and 
human  flowers,  just  look  here  while  I  open  my  portfolio  and 
show  them  a  sketch  or  two,  pencilled  after  nature.  I  took  these 
sketches  in  the  second-class  schoolroom  of  Mdlle.  Renter's 
establishment,  where  about  a  hundred  specimens  of  the  genus 
"  jeune  fille"  collected  together,  offered  a  fertile  variety  of  sub- 


THE  PROFESSOR.  89 

ject.  A  miscellaneous  assortment  they  were,  differing  both  in 
caste  and  country ;  as  I  sat  on  my  estrade  and  glanced  over  the 
long  range  of  desks,  I  had  under  my  eye  French,  English, 
Belgians,  Austrians,  and  Prussians.  The  majority  belonged  to 
the  class  bourgeois ;  but  there  were  many  countesses,  there  were 
the  daughters  of  two  generals  and  of  several  colonels,  captains, 
and  government  employes ;  these  ladies  sat  side  by  side  with 
young  females  destined  to  be  demoiselles  de  magasins,  and  with 
some  Flamandes,  genuine  aborigines  of  the  country.  In  dress 
all  were  nearly  similar,  and  in  manners  there  was  small  differ- 
ence; exceptions  there  were  to  the  general  rule,  but  the  majority 
gave  the  tone  to  the  establishment,  and  that  tone  was  rough, 
boisterous,  marked  by  a  point-blank  disregard  of  all  forbearance 
towards  each  other  or  their  teachers ;  an  eager  pursuit  by  each 
individual  of  her  own  interest  and  convenience,  and  a  coarse 
indifference  to  the  interest  and  convenience  of  every  one  else. 
Most  of  them  could  lie  with  audacity  when  it  appeared  advan- 
tageous to  do  so.  All  understood  the  art  of  speaking  fair  when 
a  point  was  to  be  gained,  and  could  with  consummate  skill  and 
at  a  moment's  notice  turn  the  cold  shoulder  the  instant  civility 
ceased  to  be  profitable.  Very  little  open  quarrelling  ever  took 
place  amongst  them ;  but  backbiting  and  talebearing  were 
universal.  Close  friendships  were  forbidden  by  the  rules  of  the 
school,  and  no  one  girl  seemed  to  cultivate  more  regard  for 
another  than  was  just  necessary  to  secure  a  companion  when 
solitude  would  have  been  irksome.  They  were  each  and  all 
supposed  to  have  been  reared  in  utter  unconsciousness  of  vice. 
The  precautions  used  to  keep  them  ignorant,  if  not  innocent, 
were  innumerable.  How  was  it,  then,  that  scarcely  one  of  those 
girls  having  attained  the  age  of  fourteen  could  look  a  man  in 
the  face  with  modesty  and  propriety  ?  An  air  of  bold,  impu- 
dent flirtation,  or  a  loose,  silly  leer,  was  sure  to  answer  the  most 
ordinary  glance  from  a  masculine  eye.  I  know  nothing  of  the 
arcana  of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion,  and  I  am  not  a  bigot  in 
matters  of  theology,  but  I  suspect  the  root  of  this  precocious 
impurity,  so  obvious,  so  general,  in  Popish  countries,  is  to  be 
found  in  the  discipline,  if  not  the  doctrines  of  the  Church  of 
Rome.  I  record  what  I  have  seen.  These  girls  belonged  to 
what  are  called  the  respectable  ranks  of  society ;  they  had  all 


90  THE  PROFESSOR. 

been  carefully  brought  up,  yet  was  the  mass  of  them  mentally 
depraved.  So  much  for  the  general  view :  now  for  one  or  two 
selected  specimens. 

The  first  picture  is  a  full  length  of  Aurelia  Koslow,  a  German 
Fraulein,  or  rather  a  half-breed  between  German  and  Russian. 
She  is  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  has  been  sent  to  Brussels  to 
finish  her  education.  She  is  of  middle  size,  stifily  made,  body 
long,  legs  short,  bust  much  developed  but  not  compactly  moulded, 
waist  disproportionately  compressed  by  an  inhumanly  braced 
corset,  dress  carefully  arranged,  large  feet  tortured  into  small 
bottines,  head  small,  hair  smoothed,  braided,  oiled,  and  gummed  , 
to  perfection ;  very  low  forehead,  very  diminutive  and  vindictive 
gray  eyes,  somewhat  Tartar  features,  rather  flat  nose,  rather  high 
cheek-bones,  yet  the  ensemble  not  positively  ugly ;  tolerably 
good  complexion.  So  much  for  person.  As  to  mind,  deplora- 
bly ignorant  and  ill-informed ;  incapable  of  writing  or  speaking 
correctly  even  German,  her  native  tongue,  a  dunce  in  French, 
and  her  attempts  at  learning  English  a  mere  farce :  yet  she  has 
been  at  school  twelve  years;  but  as  she  invariably  gets  her 
exercises,  of  every  description,  done  by  a  fellow-pupil,  and 
reads  her  lessons  off  a  book  concealed  in  her  lap,  it  is  not 
wonderful  that  her  progress  has  been  so  snail-like.  I  do  not 
know  what  Aurelia's  daily  habits  of  life  are,  because  I  have 
not  the  opportunity  of  observing  her  at  all  times;  but  from 
what  I  see  of  the  state  of  her  desk,  books,  and  papers,  I  should 
say  she  is  slovenly  and  even  dirty ;  her  outward  dress,  as  I 
have  said,  is  well  attended  to,  but  in  passing  behind  her  bench, 
I  have  remarked  that  her  neck  is  gray  for  want  of  washing, 
and  her  hair,  so  glossy  with  gum  and  grease,  is  not  such  as  one 
feels  tempted  to  pass  the  hand  over,  much  less  to  run  the  fingers 
through.  Aurelia's  conduct  in  class,  at  least  when  I  am  pre- 
sent, is  something  extraordinary,  considered  as  an  index  of 
girlish  innocence.  The  moment  I  enter  the  room,  she  nudges 
her  next  neighbor  and  indulges  in  a  half-suppressed  laugh.  As 
I  take  my  seat  on  the  estrade,  she  fixes  her  eye  on  me ;  she 
seems  resolved  to  attract,  and,  if  possible,  monopolize  my  notice : 
to  this  end  she  launches  at  me  all  sorts  of  looks,  languishing, 
provoking,  leering,  laughing.  As  I  am  found  quite  proof 
against  this  sort  of  artillery — for  we  scorn  what,  unasked,  is 


THE  PROFESSOR.  91 

lavishly  offered — she  has  recourse  to  the  expedient  of  making 
noises ;  sometimes  she  sighs,  sometimes  groans,  sometimes  utters 
inarticulate  sounds,  for  which  language  has  no  name.  If,  in 
walking  up  the  schoolroom,  I  pass  near  her,  she  puts  out  her 
foot  that  it  may  touch  mine ;  if  I  do  not  happen  to  observe  the 
manoeuvre,  and  my  boot  comes  in  contact  with  her  brodequin, 
she  affects  to  fall  into  convulsions  of  suppressed  laughter ;  if  I 
notice  the  snare  and  avoid  it,  she  expresses  her  modification  in 
sullen  muttering,  where  I  hear  myself  abused  in  bad  French, 
pronounced  with  an  intolerable  Low  German  accent. 

Not  far  from  Mdlle.  Koslow  sits  another  young  lady,  by 
name  Adele  Dronsart ;  this  is  a  Belgian,  rather  low  of  stature,  in 
form  heavy,  with  broad  waist,  short  neck  and  limbs,  good  red 
and  white  complexion,  features  well  chiselled  and  regular,  well- 
cut  eyes  of  a  clear  brown  color,  light  brown  hair,  good  teeth, 
age  not  much  above  fifteen,  but  as  full-grown  as  a  stout  young 
Englishwoman  of  twenty.  This  portrait  gives  the  idea  of  a 
somewhat  dumpy  but  good-looking  damsel,  does  it  not  ?  Well, 
when  I  looked  along  the  row  of  young  heads,  my  eye  generally 
stopped  at  this  of  Adele' s ;  her  gaze  was  ever  waiting  for  mine, 
and  it  frequently  succeeded  in  arresting  it.  She  was  an  unnatu- 
ral-looking being — so  young,  fresh,  blooming,  yet  so  Gorgon- 
like.  Suspicion,  sullen  ill-temper,  were  on  her  forehead,  vicious 
propensities  in  her  eye,  envy  and  panther-like  deceit  about  her 
mouth.  In  general  she  sat  very  still ;  her  massive  shape  looked 
as  if  it  could  not  bend  much,  nor  did  her  large  head — so  broad 
at  the  base,  no  narrow  towards  the  top — seem  made  to  turn 
readily  on  her  short  neck.  She  had  but  two  varieties  of  expres- 
sion ;  the  prevailing  one  a  forbidding,  dissatisfied  scowl,  varied 
sometimes  by  a  most  pernicious  and  perfidious  smile.  She  was 
shunned  by  her  fellow-pupils,  for,  bad  as  many  of  them  were, 
few  were  as  bad  as  she. 

Aurelia  and  Adele  were  in  the  first  division  of  the  second 
class ;  the  second  division  was  headed  by  a  pensionnaire  named 
Juanna  Trista.  This  girl  was  of  mixed  Belgian  and  Spanish 
origin ;  her  Flemish  mother  was  dead,  her  Catalonian  father 

was  a  merchant  residing  in  the Isles,  where  Juanna  had 

been  born  and  whence  she  was  sent  to  Europe  to  be  educated. 
I  wonder  that  any  one,  looking  at  that  girl's  head  and  counte- 


92  THE  PROFESSOR. 

nance,  would  have  received  her  under  their  roof.  She  had 
precisely  the  same  shape  of  skull  as  Pope  Alexander  the  Sixth : 
her  organs  of  benevolence,  veneration,  conscientiousness,  adhe- 
siveness, were  singularly  small,  those  of  self-esteem,  firmness, 
destructiveness,  combativeness,  preposterously  large;  her  head 
sloped  up  in  the  penthouse  shape,  was  contracted  about  the 
forehead,  and  prominent  behind  ;  she  had  rather  good,  though 
large  and  marked  features ;  her  temperament  was  fibrous  and 
bilious,  her  complexion  pale  and  dark,  hair  and  eyes  black, 
form  angular  and  rigid,  but  proportionate,  age  fifteen. 

Juanna  was  not  very  thin,  but  she  had  a  gaunt  visage,  and 
her  "  regard"  was  fierce  and  hungry ;  narrow  as  was  her  brow, 
it  presented  space  enough  for  the  legible  graving  of  two  words, 
Mutiny  and  Hate;  in  some  one  of  her  other  lineaments — I 
think  the  eye — cowardice  had  also  its  distinct  cipher.  Mdlle. 
Trista  thought  fit  to  trouble  my  first  lessons  with  a  coarse  work- 
day sort  of  turbulence ;  she  made  noises  with  her  mouth  like  a 
horse,  she  ejected  her  saliva,  she  uttered  brutal  expressions; 
behind  and  below  her  were  seated  a  band  of  very  vulgar,  infe- 
rior-looking Flamandes,  including  two  or  three  examples  of 
that  deformity  of  person  and  imbecility  of  intellect  whose  fre- 
quency in  the  Low  Countries  would  seem  to  furnish  proof  that 
the  climate  is  such  as  to  induce  degeneracy  of  the  human  mind 
and  body ;  these  I  soon  found  were  completely  under  her  in- 
fluence, and  with  their  aid  she  got  up  and  sustained  a  swinish 
tumult,  which  I  was  constrained  at  last  to  quell  by  ordering  her 
and  two  of  her  tools  to  rise  from  their  seats,  and,  having  kept 
them  standing  five  minutes,  turning  them  bodily  out  of  the 
schoolroom ;  the  accomplices  into  a  large  place  adjoining  called 
the  grande  salle ;  the  principal  into  a  cabinet,  of  which  I  closed 
the  door  and  pocketed  the  key.  This  judgment  I  executed  in 
the  presence  of  Mdlle.  Reuter,  who  looked  much  aghast  at 
beholding  so  decided  a  proceeding — the  most  severe  that  had 
ever  been  ventured  on  in  her  establishment.  Her  look  of 
affright  I  answered  with  one  of  composure,  and  finally  with  a 
smile,  which  perhaps  flattered,  and  certainly  soothed  her. 
Juanna  Trista  remained  in  Europe  long  enough  to  repay,  by 
malevolence  and  ingratitude,  all  who  had  ever  done  her  a  good 
turn ;  and  she  then  went  to  join  her  father  in  the Isles. 


THE  PROFESSOR.  93 

exulting  in  the  thought  that  she  should  there  have   slaves, 
whom,  as  she  said,  she  could  kick  and  strike  at  will. 

These  three  pictures  are  from  the  life.  I  possess  others,  as 
marked  and  as  little  agreeable,  but  I  will  spare  my  reader  the 
exhibition  of  them. 

Doubtless  it  will  be  thought  that  I  ought  now,  by  way  of 
contrast,  to  show  something  charming — some  gentle  virgin  head, 
circled  with  a  halo — some  sweet  personification  of  innocence, 
clasping  the  dove  of  peace  to  her  bosom.  No.  I  saw  nothing 
of  the  sort,  and  therefore  cannot  portray  it.  The  pupil  in  the 
school  possessing  the  happiest  disposition  was  a  young  girl  from 
the  country,  Louise  Path;  she  was  sufficiently  benevolent  and 
obliging,  but  not  well  taught  nor  well  mannered ;  moreover,  the 
plague-spot  of  dissimulation  was  in  her  also ;  honor  and  prin- 
ciple were  unknown  to  her,  she  had  scarcely  heard  their  names. 
The  least  exceptionable  pupil  was  the  poor  little  Sylvie  I  have 
mentioned  once  before.  Sylvie  was  gentle  in  manners,  intelli- 
gent in  mind ;  she  was  even  sincere,  as  far  as  her  religion  would 
permit  her  to  be  so,  but  her  physical  organization  was  defective ; 
weak  health  stunted  her  growth  and  chilled  her  spirits,  and 
then,  destined  as  she  was  for  the  cloister,  her  whole  soul  was 
warped  to  a  conventual  bias,  and  in  the  tame,  trained  subjec- 
tion of  her  manner,  one  read  that  she  had  already  prepared 
herself  for  her  future  course  of  life  by  giving  up  her  indepen- 
dence of  thought  and  action  into  the  hands  of  some  despotic 
confessor.  She  permitted  herself  no  original  opinion,  no  prefer- 
ence of  companion  or  employment ;  in  everything  she  was 
guided  by  another.  "With  a  pale,  passive,  automaton  air,  she 
went  about  all  day  long  doing  what  she  was  bid ;  never  what 
she  liked,  or  what,  from  innate  conviction  she  thought  it  right 
to  do.  The  poor  little  future  religieuse  had  been  early  taught 
to  make  the  dictates  of  her  own  reason  and  conscience  quite 
subordinate  to  the  will  of  her  spiritual  director.  She  was  the 
model  pupil  of  Mdlle.  Reuter's  establishment :  a  pale,  blighted 
image,  where  life  lingered  feebly,  but  whence  the  soul  had  been 
conjured  by  Romish  wizard-craft ! 

A  few  English  pupils  there  were  in  this  school,  and  these 
might  be  divided  into  two  classes.  1st.  The  continental  Eng- 
lish— the  daughters  chiefly  of  broken  adventurers  whom  debt  or 


94  THE  PROFESSOR. 

dishonor  had  driven  from  their  own  country.  These  poor  girls  had 
never  known  the  advantages  of  settled  homes,  decorous  example 
or  honest  Protestant  education ;  resident  a  few  months  now  in 
one  Catholic  school,  now  in  another,  as  their  parents  wandered 
from  land  to  land — from  France  to  Germany,  from  Germany  to 
Belgium — they  had  picked  up  some  scanty  instruction,  many 
bad  habits,  losing  every  notion  even  of  the  first  elements  of  reli- 
gion and  morals,  and  acquiring  an  imbecile  indifference  to  every 
sentiment  that  can  elevate  humanity ;  they  were  distinguishable 
by  an  habitual  look  of  sullen  subjection,  the  result  of  crushed 
self-respect  and  constant  browbeating  from  their  Popish  fellow- 
pupils,  who  hated  them  as  English,  and  scorned  them  as 
heretics. 

The  second  class  were  British  English.  Of  these  I  did  not 
encounter  half-a-dozen  during  the  whole  time  of  my  attendance 
at  the  seminary ;  their  characteristics  were  clean  but  careless 
dress,  ill-arranged  hair  (compared  with  the  tight  and  trim 
foreigners),  erect  carriage,  flexible  figures,  white  and  taper 
hands,  features  more  irregular,  but  also  more  intellectual,  than 
those  of  the  Belgians,  grave  and  modest  countenances,  a  general 
air  of  native  propriety  and  decency.  By  this  last  circumstance 
alone  I  could  at  a  glance  distinguish  the  daughter  of  Albion 
and  nursling  of  Protestantism  from  the  foster-child  of  Rome — • 
the  protegb  of  Jesuitry.  Proud,  too,  was  the  aspect  of  these 
British  girls  ;  at  once  envied  and  ridiculed  by  their  continental 
associates,  they  warded  off  insult  with  austere  civility,  and  met 
hate  with  mute  disdain ;  they  eschewed  company-keeping,  and 
in  the  midst  of  numbers  seemed  to  dwell  isolated. 

The  teachers  presiding  over  this  mixed  multitude  were  three 
in  number,  all  French— their  names  Mdlles.  Zephyrine,  Pelagie, 
and  Suzette ;  the  last  two  were  commonplace  personages  enough ; 
their  look  was  ordinary,  their  manner  was  ordinary,  their  tem- 
per was  ordinary,  their  thoughts,  feelings,  and  views  were  all 
ordinary.  Were  I  to  write  a  chapter  on  the  subject,  I  could  not 
elucidate  it  further.  Zephyrine  was  somewhat  more  distin- 
guished in  appearance  and  deportment  than  Pelagie  and 
Suzette,  but  in  character  a  genuine  Parisian  coquette,  per- 
fidious, mercenary,  and  dry-hearted.  A  fourth  maitresse  I 
sometimes  saw  who  seemed  to  come  daily  to  teach  needlework, 


THE  PROFESSOR.  95 

or  netting,  or  lace-mending,  or  some  such  flimsy  art ;  but  of  her 
I  never  had  more  than  a  passing  glimpse,  as  she  sat  in  the 
carre,  with  her  frames  and  some  dozen  of  the  elder  pupils  about 
her  ;  consequently  I  had  no  opportunity  of  studying  her  charac- 
ter, or  even  of  observing  her  person  much  ;  the  latter,  I  re- 
marked, had  a  very  girlish  air  for  a  maitresse,  otherwise,  it  was 
not  striking ;  of  character  I  should  think  she  possessed  but 
little,  as  her  pupils  seemed  constantly  "  en  revolte"  against  her 
authority.  She  did  not  reside  in  the  house  ;  her  name,  I  think, 
was  Mdlle.  Henri. 

Amidst  this  assemblage  of  all  that  was  insignificant  and  de- 
fective, much  that  was  vicious  and  repulsive  (by  that  last  epi- 
thet many  would  have  described  the  two  or  three  stiff,  silent, 
decently-behaved,  ill-dressed  British  girls),  the  sensible,  saga- 
cious, affable  directress  shone  like  a  steady  star  over  a  marsh 
full  of  Jack-o'-lanterns.  Profoundly  aware  of  her  superiority, 
she  derived  an  inward  bliss  from  that  consciousness  which  sus- 
tained her  under  all  the  care  and  responsibility  inseparable 
from  her  position  ;  it  kept  her  temper  calm,  her  brow  smooth, 
her  manner  tranquil.  She  liked — as  who  would  not? — on 
entering  the  schoolroom,  to  feel  that  her  sole  presence  sufficed 
to  diffuse  that  order  and  quiet  which  all  the  remonstrances,  and 
even  commands,  of  her  underlings  frequently  failed  to  enforce  ; 
she  liked  to  stand  in  comparison,  or  rather  contrast,  with  those 
who  surrounded  her,  and  to  know  that  in  personal  as  well  as 
mental  advantages  she  bore  away  the  undisputed  palm  of  pre- 
ference— (the  three  teachers  were  all  plain).  Her  pupils  she 
managed  with  such  indulgence  and  address,  taking  always  on 
herself  the  office  of  recompenser  and  eulogist,  and  abandoning 
to  her  subalterns  every  invidious  task  of  blame  and  punish- 
ment, that  they  all  regarded  her  with  deference,  if  not  with 
affection.  Her  teachers  did  not  love  her,  but  they  submitted 
because  they  were  her  inferiors  in  everything.  The  various 
masters  who  attended  her  school  were  each  and  all  in  some  way 
or  other  under  her  influence.  Over  one  she  had  acquired  power 
by  her  skilful  management  of  his  bad-  temper ;  over  another  by 
little  attentions  to  his  petty  caprices  ;  a  third  she  had  subdued 
by  flattery  ;  a  fourth — a  timid  man — she  kept  in  awe  by  a  sort 
of  austere  decision  of  mien  ;  me,  she  still  watched,  still  tried  by 


96  THE  PROFESSOR, 

the  most  ingenious  tests, — she  roved  round  me,  baffled,  yet  per- 
severing ;  I  believe  she  thought  I  was  like  a  smooth  and  bare 
precipice,  which  offered  neither  jutting  stone  nor  tree-root,  nor 
tuft  of  grass,  to  aid  the  climber.  Now  she  flattered  with  exqui- 
site tact,  now  she  moralized,  now  she  tried  how  far  I  was  acces- 
sible to  mercenary  motives,  then  she  disported  on  the  brink  of 
affection, — knowing  that  some  men  are  won  by  weakness, — 
anon  she  talked  excellent  sense,  aware  that  others  have  the  folly 
to  admire  judgment.  I  found  it  at  once  pleasant  and  easy  to 
evade  all  these  efforts ;  it  was  sweet,  when  she  thought  me 
nearly  won,  to  turn  round  and  to  smile  in  her  very  eyes,  half 
scornfully,  and  then  to  witness  her  scarcely  veiled  though  mute 
mortification.  Still  she  persevered,  and  at  last — I  am  bound  to 
confess  it — her  finger,  essaying,  proving  every  atom  of  the  cas- 
ket, touched  its  secret  spring,  and  for  a  moment  the  lid  sprung 
open.  She  laid  her  hand  on  the  jewel  within;  whether  she 
stole  and  broke  it,  or  whether  the  lid  shut  again  with  a  snap 
on  her  fingers,  read  on,  and  you  shall  know. 

It  happened  that  I  came  one  day  to  give  a  lesson  when  I  was 
indisposed ;  I  had  a  bad  cold  and  a  cough ;  two  hours'  incessant 
talking  left  me  very  hoarse  and  tired ;  as  I  quitted  the  school- 
room, and  was  passing  along  the  corridor,  I  met  Mdlle.  Reuter ; 
she  remarked,  with  an  anxious  air,  that  I  looked  very  pale  and 
tired.  "  Yes,"  I  said, "  I  was  fatigued ;"  and  then,  with  increased 
interest,  she  rejoined,  "  You  shall  not  go  away  till  you  have  had 
some  refreshment."  She  persuaded  me  to  step  into  the  parlor, 
and  was  very  kind  and  gentle  while  I  stayed.  The  next  day 
she  was  kinder  still ;  she  came  herself  into  the  class  to  see  that 
the  windows  were  closed,  and  that  there  was  no  draught ;  she 
exhorted  me  with  friendly  earnestness  not  to  over-exert  myself; 
when  I  went  away,  she  gave  me  her  hand  unasked,  and  I  could 
not  but  mark,  by  a  respectful  and  gentle  pressure,  that  I  was 
sensible  of  the  favor,  and  grateful  for  it.  My  modest  demon- 
stration kindled  a  little  merry  smile  on  her  countenance;  I 
thought  her  almost  charming.  During  the  remainder  of  the 
evening,  my  mind  was  full  of  impatience  for  the  afternoon  of 
the  next  day  to  arrive,  that  I  might  see  her  again. 

I  was  not  disappointed,  for  she  sat  in  the  class  during  the 
whole  of  my  subsequent  lesson,  and  often  looked  at  me  almost 


THE  PROFESSOR.  97 

with  affection.  At  four  o'clock  she  accompanied  me  out  of  the 
schoolroom,  asking  with  solicitude  after  my  health,  then  scold- 
ing me  sweetly  because  I  spoke  too  loud  and  gave  myself  too 
much  trouble.  I  stopped  at  the  glass-door  which  led  into  the 
garden,  to  hear  her  lecture  to  the  end ;  the  door  was  open,  it  was 
a  very  fine  day,  and  while  I  listened  to  the  soothing  reprimand, 
I  looked  at  the  sunshine  and  flowers,  and  felt  very  happy.  The 
day-scholars  began  to  pour  from  the  schoolrooms  into  the 
passage. 

"  Will  you  go  into  the  garden  a  minute  or  two,"  asked  she, 
"  till  they  are  gone  ?" 

I  descended  the  steps  without  answering,  but  I  looked  back 
as  much  as  to  say — "  You  will  come  with  me  ?" 

In  another  minute  I  and  the  directress  were  walking  side  by 
side  down  the  alley  bordered  with  fruit-trees,  whose  white  blos- 
soms were  then  in  full  blow  as  well  as  their  tender  green  leaves. 
The  sky  was  blue,  the  air  still ;  the  May  afternoon  was  full  of 
brightness  and  fragrance.  Released  from  the  stifling  class,  sur- 
rounded with  flowers  and  foliage,  with  a  pleasing,  smiling,  affa- 
ble woman  at  my  side — how  did  I  feel  ?  Why,  very  enviably. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  romantic  visions  my  imagination  had  sug- 
gested of  this  garden,  while  it  was  yet  hidden  from  me  by  the 
jealous  boards,  were  more  than  realized;  and,  when  a  turn  in 
the  alley  shut  out  the  view  of  the  house,  and  some  tall  shrubs 
excluded  M.  Pelet's  mansion,  and  screened  us  momentarily  from 
the  other  houses,  rising  amphitheatre-like  round  this  green 
spot,  I  gave  my  arm  to  Mdlle.  Reuter,  and  led  her  to  a  garden- 
chair,  nestled  under  some  lilacs  near.  She  sat  down ;  I  took  my 
place  at  her  side.  She  went  on  talking  to  me  with  that  ease 
which  communicates  ease,  and,  as  I  listened,  a  revelation  dawned 
in  my  mind  that  I  was  on  the  brink  of  falling  in  love.  The 
dinner-bell  rang,  both  at  her  house  and  M.  Pelet's ;  we  were 
obliged  to  part ;  I  detained  her  a  moment  as  she  was  moving 
away. 

"  I  want  something,"  said  I. 

"  What  ?"  asked  Zoraide,  naively. 

"Only  a  flower." 

"  Gather  it  then — or  two,  or  twenty,  if  you  like." 

"  No,  one  will  do,  but  you  must  gather  it,  and  give  it  to  me." 
7 


98  THE  PROFESSOR. 

"  What  a  caprice !"  she  exclaimed,  but  she  raised  herself  on 
her  tip-toes,  and,  plucking  a  beautiful  branch  of  lilac,  offered  it 
to  me  with  grace.  I  took  it,  and  went  away,  satisfied  for  the 
present,  and  hopeful  for  the  future. 

Certainly  that  May  day  was  a  lovely  one,  and  it  closed  in 
moonlight  night  of  summer  warmth  and  serenity.  I  remember 
this  well ;  for,  having  sat  up  late  that  evening,  correcting  devoirs, 
and  feeling  weary  and  a  little  oppressed  with  the  closeness  of 
my  small  room,  I  opened  the  often-mentioned  boarded  window, 
whose  boards,  however,  I  had  persuaded  old  Madame  Pelet  to 
have  removed  since  I  had  filled  the  post  of  professor  in  the  pen- 
sionnat  de  demoiselles,  as,  from  that  time,  it  was  no  longer  "  in- 
convenient "  for  me  to  overlook  my  own  pupils  at  their  sports. 
I  sat  down  in  the  window-seat,  rested  my  arm  on  the  sill,  and 
leaned  out :  above  me  was  the  clear-obscure  of  a  cloudless  night 
sky — splendid  moonlight  subdued  the  tremulous  sparkle  of  the 
stars — below  lay  the  garden,  varied  with  silvery  lustre  and  deep 
shade,  and  all  fresh  with  dew — a  grateful  perfume  exhaled 
from  the  closed  blossoms  of  the  fruit-trees — not  a  leaf  stirred, 
the  night  was  breezeless.  My  window  looked  directly  down 
upon  a  certain  walk  of  Mdlle.  Renter's  garden,  called  "  1'allee 
deTendue,"  so  named  because  the  pupils  were  forbidden  to  enter 
it  on  account  of  its  proximity  to  the  boys'  school.  It  was  here 
that  the  lilacs  and  laburnums  grew  especially  thick ;  this  was 
the  most  sheltered  nook  in  the  enclosure ;  its  shrubs  screened 
the  garden-chair  where  that  afternoon  I  had  sat  with  the  young 
directress.  I  need  not  say  that  my  thoughts  were  chiefly  with 
her  as  I  leaned  from  the  lattice,  and  let  my  eye  roam,  now  over 
the  walks  and  borders  of  the  garden,  now  along  the  many- 
windowed  front  of  the  house,  which  rose  white  beyond  the 
masses  of  foliage.  I  wondered  in  what  part  of  the  building 
was  situated  her  apartment ;  and  a  single  light,  shining  through 
the  persiennes  of  one  croisee,  seemed  to  direct  me  to  it. 

"  She  watches  late,"  thought  I,  "  for  it  must  be  now  near 
midnight.  She  is  a  fascinating  little  woman,"  I  continued,  in 
voiceless  soliloquy ;  "  her  image  forms  a  pleasant  picture  in 
memory ;  I  know  she  is  not  what  the  world  calls  pretty — no 
matter,  there  is  harmony  in  her  aspect,  and  I  like  it;  her 
brown  hair,  her  blue  eye,  the  freshness  of  her  cheek,  the  white- 


TEE  PROFESSOR.  99 

ness  of  her  neck,  all  suit  my  taste.  Then  I  respect  her  talent ; 
the  idea  of  marrying  a  doll  or  a  fool  was  always  abhorrent  to 
me.  I  know  that  a  pretty  doll,  a  fair  fool,  might  do  well 
enough  for  the  honeymoon;  but  when  passion  cooled,  how 
dreadful  to  find  a  lump  of  wax  and  wood  laid  in  my  bosom,  a 
half  idiot  clasped  in  my  arms,  and  to  remember  that  I  had 
made  of  this  my  equal — nay,  my  idol — to  know  that  I  must  pass 
the  rest  of  my  dreary  life  with  a  creature  incapable  of  under- 
standing what  I  said,  of  appreciating  what  I  thought,  or  of 
sympathizing  with  what  I  felt !  "  Now,  Zoraide  Reuter," 
thought  I,  "has  tact,  ' caractere,' judgment,  discretion ;  has  she 
heart  ?  What  a  good,  simple  little  smile  played  about  her  lips 
when  she  gave  me  the  branch  of  lilacs !  I  have  thought  her 
crafty,  dissembling,  interested  sometimes,  it  is  true ;  but  may 
not  much  that  looks  like  cunning  and  dissimulation  in  her  con- 
duct be  only  the  efforts  made  by  a  bland  temper  to  traverse 
quietly  pe.rplexing  difficulties  ?  And  as  to  interest,  she  wishes 
to  make  her  way  in  the  world,  no  doubt,  and  who  can  blame 
her?  Even  if  she  be  truly  deficient  in  sound  principle,  is  it 
not  rather  her  misfortune  than  her  fault?  She  has  been 
brought  up  a  Catholic :  had  she  been  born  an  Englishwoman, 
and  reared  a  Protestant,  might  she  not  have  added  straight 
integrity  to  all  her  other  excellencies  ?  Supposing  she  were  to 
marry  an  English  and  Protestant  husband,  would  she  not, 
rational,  sensible  as  she  is,  quickly  acknowledge  the  superiority 
of  right  over  expediency,  honesty  over  policy  ?  It  would  be 
worth  a  man's  while  to  try  the  experiment ;  to-morrow  I  will 
renew  my  observations.  She  knows  that  I  watch  her;  how 
calm  she  is  under  scrutiny!  it  seems  rather  to  gratify  than 
annoy  her."  Here  a  strain  of  music  stole  in  upon  my  mono- 
logue, and  suspended  it ;  it  was  a  bugle,  very  skilfully  played, 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  park,  I  thought,  or  on  the  Place 
Royale.  So  sweet  were  the  tones,  so  subduing  their  effect  at 
that  hour,  in  the  midst  of  silence  and  under  the  quiet  reign  of 
moonlight,  I  ceased  to  think,  that  I  might  listen  more  intently. 
The  strain  retreated,  its  sound  waxed  fainter  and  was  soon 
gone ;  my  ear  prepared  to  repose  on  the  absolute  hush  of  mid- 
night once  more.  No.  What  murmur  was  that  which,  low, 
and  yet  near  and  approaching  nearer,  frustrated  the  expecta- 


100  THE  PROFESSOR. 

tion  of  total  silence  ?  It  was  some  one  conversing — yes,  evi- 
dently, an  audible,  though  subdued  voice  spoke  in  the  garden 
immediately  below  me.  Another  answered  :  the  first  voice  was 
that  of  a  man,  the  second  that  of  a  woman ;  and  a  man  and  a 
woman  I  saw  coming  slowly  down  the  alley.  Their  forms  were 
at  first  in  the  shade,  I  could  but  discern  a  dusk  outline  of  each ; 
but  a  ray  of  moonlight  met  them  at  the  termination  of  the 
walk,  when  they  were  under  my  very  nose,  and  revealed  very 
plainly,  very  unequivocally,  Mdlle.  Zoraide  Renter,  arm-in-arin, 
or  hand-in-hand  (I  forget  which)  with  my  principal,  confidant, 
and  counsellor,  M.  Franyois  Pelet.  And  M.  Pelet  was  saying, 
"A  quand  done  le  jour  des  noces,  ma  bien-aime'e  ?" 

And  Mdlle.  Renter  answered,  "  Mais,  Franyois,  tu  sais  bien 
qu'il  me  serait  impossible  de  me  marier  avant  les  vacancies." 

"  June,  July,  August,  a  whole  quarter !"  exclaimed  the 
director.  "  How  can  I  wait  so  long  ? — I  who  am  ready,  even 
now,  to  expire  at  your  feet  with  impatience !" 

"  Ah  !  if  you  die,  the  whole  affair  will  be  settled  without  any 
trouble  about  notaries  and  contracts ;  I  shall  only  have  to  order 
a  slight  mourning  dress,  which  will  be  much  sooner  prepared 
than  the  nuptial  trousseau." 

"  Cruel  Zoraide  I  you  laugh  at  the  distress  of  one  who  loves 
you  so  devotedly  as  I  do ;  my  torment  is  your  sport ;  you 
scruple  not  to  stretch  my  soul  on  the  rack  of  jealousy ;  for,  deny 
it  as  you  will,  I  am  certain  you  have  cast  encouraging  glances  on 
that  school-boy  Crimsworth  :  he  has  presumed  to  fall  in  love, 
which  he  dared  not  have  done  unless  you  had  given  him  room 
to  hope." 

"  What  do  you  say,  Frauyois  ?  Do  you  say  Crimsworth  is  in 
love  with  me  ?" 

"  Over  head  and  ears." 

"  Has  he  told  you  so  ?" 

"  No ;  but  I  see  it  in  his  face :  he  blushes  whenever  your 
name  is  mentioned." 

A  little  laugh  of  exulting  coquetry  announced  Mdlle.  Reuter's 
gratification  at  this  piece  of  intelligence  (which  was  a  lie,  by- 
the-by — I  had  never  been  so  far  gone  as  that,  after  all).  M. 
Pelet  proceeded  to  ask  what  she  intended  to  do  with  me,  inti- 
mating plainly,  and  not  very  gallantly,  that  it  was  nonsense  for 


THE  PROFESSOR.  101 

her  to  think  of  taking  such  a  "  blanc-bec"  as  a  husband,  since 
she  must  be  at  least  ten  years  older  than  I  (was  she  then  thirty- 
two  ?  I  should  not  have  thought  it).  I  heard  her  disclaim  any 
intentions  on  the  subject — the  director,  however,  still  pressed 
her  to  give  a  definite  answer. 

"  Francois,"  said  she,  "  you  are  jealous,"  and  still  she  laughed  ; 
then,  as  if  suddenly  recollecting  that  this  coquetry  was  not  con- 
sistent with  the  character  for  modest  dignity  she  wished  to 
establish,  she  proceeded,  in  a  demure  voice :  "  Truly,  my  dear 
Francois,  I  will  not  deny  that  this  young  Englishman  may  have 
made  some  attempts  to  ingratiate  himself  with  me ;  but,  so  far 
from  giving  him  any  encouragement,  I  have  always  treated  him 
with  as  much  reserve  as  it  was  possible  to  combine  with  civility  ; 
affianced  as  I  am  to  you,  I  would  give  no  man  false  hopes ;  be- 
lieve me,  dear  friend." 

Still  Pelet  uttered  murmurs  of  distrust — so  I  judged,  at  least, 
from  her  reply. 

"  What  folly  !  How  could  I  prefer  an  unknown  foreigner  to 
you  ?  And  then — not  to  flatter  your  vanity — Crimsworth  could 
not  bear  comparison  with  you  either  physically  or  mentally ;  he 
is  not  a  handsome  man  at  all ;  some  may  call  him  gentleman- 
like and  intelligent-looking,  but  for  my  part — 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost  in  the  distance,  as  the  pair, 
rising  from  the  chair  in  which  they  had  been  seated,  moved 
away.  I  waited  their  return,  but  soon  the  opening  and  shut- 
ting of  a  door  informed  me  that  they  had  re-entered  the  house ; 
I  listened  a  little  longer,  all  was  perfectly  still ;  I  listened  more 
than  an  hour — at  last  I  heard  M.  Pelet  come  in  and  ascend  to 
his  chamber.  Glancing  once  more  towards  the  long  front  of 
the  garden-house,  I  perceived  that  its  solitary  light  was  at  length 
extinguished  :  so,  for  a  time,  was  my  faith  in  love  and  friendship. 
I  went  to  bed,  but  something  feverish  and  fiery  had  got  into  my 
veins  which  prevented  me  from  sleeping  much  that  night. 


102  TEE  PROFESSOR. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

"ATEXT  morning  I  rose  with  the  dawn,  and  having  dressed 
_L>|  myself  and  stood  half-an-hour,  my  elbow  leaning  on  the 
chest  of  drawers,  considering  what  means  I  should  adopt  to 
restore  my  spirits,  fagged  with  sleeplessness,  to  their  ordinary 
tone — for  I  had  no  intention  of  getting  up  a  scene  with  M. 
Pelet,  reproaching  him  with  perfidy,  sending  him  a  challenge, 
or  performing  other  gambadoes  of  the  sort — I  hit  at  last  on  the 
expedient  of  walking  out  in  the  cool  of  the  morning  to  a  neigh- 
boring establishment  of  baths,  and  treating  myself  to  a  bracing 
plunge.  The  remedy  produced  the  desired  effect.  I  came  back 
at  seven  o'clock  steadied  and  invigorated,  and  was  able  to  greet 
M.  Pelet,  Avhen  he  entered  to  breakfast,  with  an  unchanged  and 
tranquil  countenance  ;  even  a  cordial  offering  of  the  hand  and 
the  flattering  appellation  of  "  mon  fils,"  pronounced  in  that 
caressing  tone  with  which  Monsieur  had,  of  late  days  especially, 
been  accustomed  to  address  me,  did  not  elicit  any  external  sign 
of  the  feeling  which,  though  subdued,  still  glowed  at  my  heart. 
Not  that  I  nursed  vengeance — no  ;  but  the  sense  of  insult  and 
treachery  lived  in  me  like  a  kindling  though  as  yet  smothered 
coal.  God  knows  I  am  not  by  nature  vindictive ;  I  would  not 
hurt  a  man  because  I  can  no  longer  trust  or  like  him  ;  but 
neither  my  reason  nor  feelings  are  of  the  vacillating  order — 
they  are  not  of  that  sand-like  sort  where  impressions,  if  soon 
made,  are  as  soon  effaced.  Once  convinced  that  my  friend's 
disposition  is  incompatible  with  my  own,  once  assured  that  he 
is  indelibly  stained  with  certain  defects  obnoxious  to  my  princi- 
ples, and  I  dissolve  the  connection.  I  did  so  with  Edward.  As 
to  Pelet,  the  discovery  was  yet  new ;  should  I  act  thus  with 
him  ?  It  was  the  question  I  placed  before  my  mind  as  I  stirred 
my  cup  of  coffee  with  a  half-pistolet  (we  never  had  spoons), 
Pelet  meantime  being  seated  opposite,  his  pallid  face  looking 
as  knowing  and  more  haggard  than  usual,  his  blue  eye  turned, 
now  sternly  on  his  boys  and  ushers,  and  now  graciously  on  me. 
"  Circumstances  must  guide  me,"  said  I ;  and  meeting  Pelet's 


THE  PROFESSOR.  103 

false  glance  and  insinuating  smile,  I  thanked  heaven  that  I  had 
last  night  opened  my  window  and  read  by  the  light  of  a  full 
moon  the  true  meaning  of  that  guileful  countenance.  I  felt 
half  his  master,  because  the  reality  of  his  nature  was  now 
known  to  me ;  smile  and  flatter  as  he  would,  I  saw  his  soul 
lurk  behind  his  smile,  and  heard  in  every  one  of  his  smooth 
phrases  a  voice  interpreting  their  treacherous  import. 

But  Zoraide  Reuter  ?  Of  course  her  defection  had  cut  me  to 
the  quick  ?  That  sting  must  have  gone  too  deep  for  any  conso- 
lations of  philosophy  to  be  available  in  curing  its  smart  ?  Not 
at  all.  The  night  fever  over,  I  looked  about  for  balm  to  that 
wound  also,  and  found  some  nearer  home  than  at  Gilead. 
Reason  was  my  physician ;  she  began  by  proving  that  the  prize 
I  had  missed  was  of  little  value :  she  admitted  that,  physically, 
Zoraide  might  have  suited  me,  but  affirmed  that  our  souls  were 
not  in  harmony,  and  that  discord  must  have  resulted  from  the 
union  of  her  mind  with  mine.  She  then  insisted  on  the  sup- 
pression of  all  repining,  and  commanded  me  rather  to  rejoice 
that  I  had  escaped  a  snare.  Her  medicament  did  me  good.  I 
felt  its  strengthening  effect  when  I  met  the  directress  the  next 
day  ;  its  stringent  operation  on  the  nerves  suffered  no  trembling, 
no  faltering ;  it  enabled  me  to  face  her  with  firmness,  to  pass 
her  with  ease.  She  had  held  out  her  hand  to  me — that  I  did 
not  choose  to  see.  She  had  greeted  me  with  a  charming  smile — 
it  fell  on  my  heart  like  light  on  stone.  I  passed  on  to  the 
estrade,  she  followed  me ;  her  eye,  fastened  on  my  face,  demanded 
of  every  feature  the  meaning  of  my  changed  and  careless  man- 
ner. "  I  will  give  her  an  answer,"  thought  I ;  and,  meeting  her 
gaze  full,  arresting,  fixing  her  glance,  I  shot  into  her  eyes  from 
my  own  a  look  where  there  was  no  respect,  no  love,  no  tender- 
ness, no  gallantry ;  where  the  strictest  analysis  could  detect 
nothing  but  scorn,  hardihood,  irony.  I  made  her  bear  it,  and 
feel  it ;  her  steady  countenance  did  not  change,  but  her  color 
rose,  and  she  approached  me  as  if  fascinated.  She  stepped  on 
to  the  estrade,  and  stood  close  by  my  side ;  she  had  nothing  to 
say.  I  would  not  relieve  her  embarrassment,  and  negligently 
turned  over  the  leaves  of  a  book. 

"  I  hope  you  feel  quite  recovered  to-day,"  at  last  she  said,  in 
a  low  tone. 


104  THE  PROFESSOR. 

"  And  I,  Mademoiselle,  hope  that  you  took  no  cold  last  night 
in  consequence  of  your  late  walk  in  the  garden." 

Quick  enough  of  comprehension,  she  understood  me  directly; 
her  face  became  a  little  blanched — a  very  little — but  no  muscle 
in  her  rather  marked  features  moved ;  and,  calm  and  self-pos- 
sessed, she  retired  from  the  estrade,  taking  her  seat  quietly  at  a 
little  distance,  and  occupying  herself  with  netting  a  purse.  I 
proceeded  to  give  my  lesson;  it  was  a  "Composition,"  i.  e., 
I  dictated  certain  general  questions,  of  which  the  pupils  were  to 
compose  the  answers  from  memory,  access  to  books  being  for- 
bidden. While  Mdlle.  Eulalie,  Hortense,  Caroline,  &c.  were 
pondering  over  the  string  of  rather  abstruse  grammatical  inter- 
rogatories I  had  propounded,  I  was  at  liberty  to  employ  the 
vacant  half-hour  in  further  observing  the  directress  herself. 
The  green  silk  purse  was  progressing  fast  in  her  hands ;  her 
eyes  were  bent  upon  it ;  her  attitude,  as  she  sat  netting  within 
two  yards  of  me,  was  still  yet  guarded ;  in  her  whole  person 
were  expressed  at  once,  and  with  equal  clearness,  vigilance  and 
repose — a  rare  union !  Looking  at  her,  I  was  forced,  as  I  had 
often  been  before,  to  offer  her  good  sense,  her  wondrous  self- 
control,  the  tribute  of  involuntary  admiration.  She  had  felt 
that  I  had  withdrawn  from  her  my  esteem ;  she  had  seen  con- 
tempt and  coldness  in  my  eye,  and  to  her,  who  coveted  the 
approbation  of  all  around  her,  who  thirsted  after  universal  good 
opinion,  such  discovery  must  have  been  an  acute  wound.  I  had 
witnessed  its  effect  in  the  momentary  pallor  of  her  cheek — a 
cheek  unused  to  vary ;  yet  how  quickly,  by  dint  of  self-control, 
had  she  recovered  her  composure !  With  what  quiet  dignity 
she  now  sat  almost  at  my  side,  sustained  by  her  sound  and 
vigorous  sense;  no  trembling  in  her  somewhat  lengthened 
though  shrewd  upper  lip,  no  coward  shame  on  her  austere  fore- 
head! 

"  There  is  metal  there,"  I  said,  as  I  gazed.  "  Would  that 
there  were  fire  also,  living  ardor  to  make  the  steel  glow — then 
I  could  love  her." 

Presently  I  discovered  that  she  knew  I  was  watching  her,  for 
she  stirred  not,  she  lifted  not  her  crafty  eyelid ;  she  had  glanced 
down  from  her  netting  to  her  small  foot,  peeping  from  the  soft 
folds  of  her  purple  merino  gown ;  thence  her  eye  reverted  to  her 


THE  PROFESSOR.  105 

hand,  ivory  white,  with  a  bright  garnet  ring  on  the  forefinger, 
and  a  light  frill  of  lace  round  the  wrist ;  with  a  scarcely  per- 
ceptible movement  she  turned  her  head,  causing  her  nut-brown 
curls  to  wave  gracefully.  In  these  slight  signs  I  read  that  the 
wish  of  her  heart,  the  design  of  her  brain,  was  to  lure  back  the 
game  she  had  scared.  A  little  incident  gave  her  the  opportu- 
nity of  addressing  me  again. 

"While  all  was  silence  in  the  class — silence,  but  for  the  rust- 
ling of  copy-books  and  the  travelling  of  pens  over  their  pages — 
a  leaf  of  the  large  folding-door,  opening  from  the  hall,  un- 
closed, admitting  a  pupil,  who,  after  making  a  hasty  obeisance, 
ensconced  herself,  with  some  appearance  of  trepidation,  probably 
occasioned  by  her  entering  so  late,  in  a  vacant  seat  at  the  desk 
nearest  the  door.  Being  seated,  she  proceeded,  still  with  an  air 
of  hurry  and  embarrassment,  to  open  her  cabas,  to  take  out  her 
books ;  and  while  I  was  waiting  for  her  to  look  up,  in  order  to 
make  out  her  identity — for  short-sighted  as  I  was,  I  had  not 
recognized  her  at  her  entrance — Mdlle.  Reuter,  leaving  her 
chair,  approached  the  estrade. 

"Monsieur  Creemsvort,"  said  she,  in  a  whisper, — for  when 
the  schoolrooms  were  silent,  the  directress  always  moved  with 
velvet  tread,  and  spoke  in  the  most  subdued  key,  enforcing 
order  and  stillness  fully  as  much  by  example  as  precept, — 
"Monsieur  Creemsvort,  that  young  person  who  has  just 
entered  wishes  to  have  the  advantage  of  taking  lessons  with  you 
in  English ;  she  is  not  a  pupil  of  the  house ;  she  is,  indeed,  in 
one  sense,  a  teacher,  for  she  gives  instruction  in  lace-mending, 
and  in  little  varieties  of  ornamental  needle-work.  She  very 
properly  proposes  to  qualify  herself  for  a  higher  department  of 
education,  and  has  asked  permission  to  attend  your  lessons,  in 
order  to  perfect  her  knowledge  of  English,  in  which  language 
she  has,  I  believe,  already  made  some  progress ;  of  course  it  is 
my  wish  to  aid  her  in  an  effort  so  praiseworthy  ;  you  will  permit 
her,  then,  to  benefit  by  your  instruction — n'est-ce  pas,  Mon- 
sieur?" And  Mdlle.  Reuter's  eyes  were  raised  to  mine  with 
a  look  at  once  naive,  benign,  and  beseeching. 

I  replied,  "  Of  course,"  very  laconically,  almost  abruptly. 

"  Another  word,"  she  said,  with  softness :  "  Mdlle.  Henri  has 
not  received  a  regular  education ;  perhaps  her  natural  talents 


106  THE  PROFESSOR. 

are  not  of  the  highest  order ;  but  I  can  assure  you  of  the  excel- 
lence of  her  intentions,  and  even  of  the  amiability  of  her  dis- 
position. Monsieur  will  then,  I  am  sure,  have  the  goodness  to 
be  considerate  with  her  at  first,  and  not  expose  her  backward- 
ness, her  inevitable  deficiencies,  before  the  young  ladies,  who, 
in  a  sense,  are  her  pupils.  Will  Monsieur  Creemsvort  favor 
me  by  attending  to  this  hint?" 

I  nodded. 

She  continued  with  subdued  earnestness — "  Pardon  me,  Mon- 
sieur, if  I  venture  to  add  that  what  I  have  just  said  is  of 
importance  to  the  poor  girl ;  she  already  experiences  great  diffi- 
culty in  impressing  these  giddy  young  things  with  a  due  degree 
of  deference  for  her  authority,  and  should  that  difficulty  be 
increased  by  new  discoveries  of  her  incapacity,  she  might  find 
her  position  in  my  establishment  too  painful  to  be  retained ;  a 
circumstance  I  should  much  regret  for  her  sake,  as  she  can  ill 
afford  to  lose  the  profits  of  her  occupation  here." 

Mdlle.  Renter  possessed  marvellous  tact ;  but  tact  the  most 
exquisite,  unsupported  by  sincerity,  will  sometimes  fail  of  its 
effect ;  thus,  on  this  occasion,  the  longer  she  preached  about  the 
necessity  of  being  indulgent  to  the  governess-pupil,  the  more 
impatient  I  felt  as  I  listened.  I  discerned  so  clearly  that  while 
her  professed  motive  was  a  wish  to  aid  the  dull  though  well- 
meaning  Mdlle.  Henri,  her  real  one  was  no  other  than  a  design 
to  impress  me  with  an  idea  of  her  own  exalted  goodness  and 
tender  considerateness ;  so  having  again  hastily  nodded  assent 
to  her  remarks,  I  obviated  their  renewal  by  suddenly  demanding 
the  compositions,  in  a  sharp  accent,  and  stepping  from  the 
estrade,  I  proceeded  to  collect  them.  As  I  passed  the  governess- 
pupil,  I  said  to  her,  "  You  have  come  in  too  late  to  receive  a 
lesson  to-day ;  try  to  be  more  punctual  next  time." 

I  was  behind  her,  and  could  not  read  in  her  face  the  effect  of 
my  not  very  civil  speech.  Probably  I  should  not  have  troubled 
myself  to  do  so,  had  I  been  full  in  front ;  but  I  observed  that 
she  immediately  began  to  slip  her  books  into  her  cabas  again  ; 
and,  presently,  after  I  had  returned  to  the  estrade,  while  I  was 
arranging  the  mass  of  compositions,  I  heard  the  folding-door 
again  open  and  close ;  and,  on  looking  up,  I  perceived  her  place 
vacant.  I  thought  to  myself,  "She  will  consider  her  first 


THE  PROFESSOR.  107 

attempt  at  taking  a  lesson  in  English  something  of  a  failure ;" 
and  I  wondered  whether  she  had  departed  in  the  sulks,  or 
whether  stupidity  had  induced  her  to  take  my  words  too  liter- 
ally, or,  finally,  whether  my  irritable  tone  had  wounded  her 
feelings.  The  last  notion  I  dismissed  almost  as  soon  as  I  had 
conceived  it,  for  not  having  seen  any  appearance  of  sensitiveness 
in  any  human  face  since  my  arrival  in  Belgium,  I  had  begun 
to  regard  it  almost  as  a  fabulous  quality.  Whether  her  physi- 
ognomy announced  it  I  could  not  tell,  for  her  speedy  exit  had 
allowed  me  no  time  to  ascertain  the  circumstance.  I  had, 
indeed,  on  two  or  three  previous  occasions,  caught  a  passing 
view  of  her  (as  I  believe  has  been  mentioned  before) ;  but  I  had 
never  stopped  to  scrutinize  either  her  face  or  person,  and  had 
but  the  most  vague  idea  of  her  general  appearance.  Just  as  I 
had  finished  rolling  up  the  compositions,  the  four-o'clock  bell 
rang ;  with  my  accustomed  alertness  in  obeying  that  signal,  I 
grasped  my  hat  and  evacuated  the  premises. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

IF  I  was  punctual  in  quitting  Mdlle.  Renter's  domicile,  I  was 
at  least  equally  punctual  in  arriving  there.  I  came  the 
next  day  at  five  minutes  before  two,  and  on  reaching  the  school- 
room door,  before  I  opened  it,  I  heard  a  rapid,  gabbling  sound, 
which  warned  me  that  the  "  priere  du  midi "  was  not  yet  con- 
cluded. I  waited  the  termination  thereof;  it  would  have  been 
impious  to  intrude  my  heretical  presence  during  its  progress. 
How  the  repeater  of  the  prayer  did  cackle  and  splutter  !  I 
never  before  or  since  heard  language  enounced  with  such  steam- 
engine  haste.  "  Notre  Pere  qui  e*tes  au  ciel "  went  off  like  a 
shot ;  then  followed  an  address  to  Marie  "  vierge  celeste,  reine 
des  anges,  maison  d'or,  tour  d'ivoire!"  and  then  an  invocation 
to  the  saint  of  the  day ;  and  then  down  they  all  sat,  and  the 
solemn  (?)  rite  was  over ;  and  I  entered,  flinging  the  door  wide 


1 08  TEE  PR  OFESSOR. 

and  striding  in  fast,  as  it  was  my  wont  to  do  now ;  for  I  had 
found  that  in  entering  with  aplomb,  and  mounting  the  estrade 
with  emphasis,  consisted  the  grand  secret  of  ensuring  immediate 
silence.  The  folding-doors  between  the  two  classes,  opened  for 
the  prayer,  were  instantly  closed ;  a  maitresse,  work-box  in 
hand,  took  her  seat  at  her  appropriate  desk ;  the  pupils  sat  still 
with  their  pens  and  books  before  them ;  my  three  beauties  in 
the  van,  now  well  humbled  by  a  demeanor  of  consistent  coolness, 
sat  erect  with  their  hands  folded  quietly  on  their  knees ;  they 
had  given  up  giggling  and  whispering  to  each  other,  and  no 
longer  ventured  to  utter  pert  speeches  in  my  presence ;  they  now 
only  talked  to  me  occasionally  with  their  eyes,  by  means  of 
which  organs  they  could  still,  however,  say  very  audacious  and 
coquettish  things.  Had  affection,  goodness,  modesty,  real  talent, 
ever  employed  those  bright  orbs  as  interpreters,  I  do  not  think 
I  could  have  refrained  from  giving  a  kind  and  encouraging, 
perhaps  an  ardent,  reply  now  and  then ;  but  as  it  was,  I  found 
pleasure  in  answering  the  glance  of  vanity  with  the  gaze  of 
stoicism.  Youthful,  fair,  brilliant,  as  were  many  of  my  pupils, 
I  can  truly  say  that  in  me  they  never  saw  any  other  bearing 
than  such  as  an  austere  though  just  guardian  might  have 
observed  towards  them.  If  any  doubt  the  accuracy  of  this 
assertion,  as  inferring  more  conscientious  self-denial  or  Scipio- 
like  self-control  than  they  feel  disposed  to  give  me  credit  for,  let 
them  take  into  consideration  the  following  circumstances,  which, 
while  detracting  from  my  merit,  justify  my  veracity. 

Know,  O  incredulous  reader !  that  a  master  stands  in  a  some- 
what different  relation  towards  a  pretty,  light-headed,  probably 
ignorant  girl,  to  that  occupied  by  a  partner  at  a  ball,  or  a  gal- 
lant on  the  promenade.  A  professor  does  not  meet  his  pupil  to 
see  her  dressed  in  satin  and  muslin,  with  hair  perfumed  and 
curled,  neck  scarcely  shaded  by  aerial  lace,  round  white  arms 
circled  with  bracelets,  feet  dressed  for  the  gliding  dance.  It  is 
not  his  business  to  whirl  her  through  the  waltz,  to  feed  her  with 
compliments,  to  heighten  her  beauty  by  the  flush  of  gratified 
vanity.  Neither  does  he  encounter  her  on  the  smooth-rolled, 
tree-shaded  boulevard,  in  the  green  and  sunny  park,  whither 
she  repairs  clad  in  her  becoming  walking-dress,  her  scarf  thrown 
with  grace  over  her  shoulders,  her  little  bonnet  scarcely  screen- 


THE  PROFESSOR.  109 

ing  her  curls,  the  red  rose  under  its  brim  adding  a  new  tint  to 
the  softer  rose  on  her  cheek  ;  her  face  and  eyes,  too,  illumined 
with  smiles,  perhaps  as  transient  as  the  sunshine  of  the  gala-day, 
but  also  quite  as  brilliant ;  it  is  not  his  office  to  walk  by  her 
side,  to  listen  to  her  lively  chat,  to  carry  her  parasol,  scarcely 
larger  than  a  broad  green  leaf,  to  lead  in  a  ribbon  her  Blenheim 
spaniel  or  Italian  greyhound.  No  ;  he  finds  her  in  the  school- 
room, plainly  dressed,  with  books  before  her.  Owing  to  her 
education  or  her  nature,  books  are  to  her  a  nuisance,  and  she 
opens  them  with  aversion,  yet  her  teacher  must  instil  into  her 
mind  the  contents  of  these  books ;  that  mind  resists  the  admis- 
sion of  grave  information,  it  recoils,  it  grows  restive,  sullen  tem- 
pers are  shown,  disfiguring  frowns  spoil  the  symmetry  of  the 
face,  sometimes  coarse  gestures  banish  grace  from  the  deport- 
ment, while  muttered  expressions,  redolent  of  native  and  inerad- 
icable vulgarity,  desecrate  the  sweetness  of  the  voice.  Where 
the  temperament  is  serene  though  the  intellect  be  sluggish,  an 
unconquerable  dullness  opposes  every  effort  to  instruct.  Where 
there  is  cunning  but  not  energy,  dissimulation,  falsehood,  a 
thousand  schemes  and  tricks  are  put  in  play  to  evade  the  neces- 
sity of  application ;  in  short,  to  the  tutor,  female  youth,  female 
charms,  are  like  tapestry  hangings,  of  which  the  wrong  side  is 
continually  turned  towards  him ;  and  even  when  he  sees  the 
smooth,  neat,  external  surface,  he  so  well  knows  what  knots, 
long  stitches,  and  jagged  ends  are  behind  that  he  has  scarce  a 
temptation  to  admire  too  fondly  the  seemly  forms  and  bright 
colors  exposed  to  general  view. 

Our  likings  are  regulated  by  our  circumstances.  The  artist 
prefers  a  hilly  country  because  it  is  picturesque  ;  the  engineer  a 
flat  one  because  it  is  convenient;  the  man  of  pleasure  likes  what 
he  calls  "a  fine  woman" — she  suits  him;  the  fashionable  young 
gentleman  admires  the  fashionable  young  lady — she  is  of  his 
kind;  the  toil-worn,  fagged,  probably  irritable  tutor,  blind 
almost  to  beauty,  insensible  to  airs  and  graces,  glories  chiefly 
in  certain  mental  qualities  :  application,  love  of  knowledge, 
natural  capacity,  docility,  truthfulness,  gratefulness,  are  the 
charms  that  attract  his  notice  and  win  his  regard.  These  he 
seeks,  but  seldom  meets ;  these,  if  by  chance  he  finds,  he  would 
fain  retain  for  ever,  and  when  separation  deprives  him  of  them, 


110  THE  PROFESSOR. 

he  feels  as  if  some  ruthless  hand  had  snatched  from  him  his 
only  ewe-lamb.  Such  being  the  case,  and  the  case  it  is,  my 
readers  will  agree  with  me  that  there  was  nothing  either  very 
meritorious  or  very  marvellous  in  the  integrity  and  modera- 
tion of  my  conduct  at  Mdlle.  Reuter's  pensionnat  de  demoi- 
selles. 

My  first  business  this  afternoon  consisted  in  reading  the  list 
of  places  for  the  month,  determined  by  the  relative  correctness 
of  the  compositions  given  the  preceding  day.  The  list  was 
headed,  as  usual,  by  the  name  of  Sylvie,  that  plain,  quiet  little 
girl  I  have  described  before  as  being  at  once  the  best  and  ugliest 
pupil  in  the  establishment ;  the  second  place  had  fallen  to  the 
lot  of  a  certain  L£onie  Ledru,  a  diminutive,  sharp-featured, 
and  parchment-skinned  creature  of  quick  wits,  frail  conscience, 
and  indurated  feelings ;  a  lawyer-like  thing,  of  whom  I  used 
to  say  that,  had  she  been  a  boy,  she  would  have  made  a  model 
of  an  unprincipled,  clever  attorney.  Then  came  Eulalie,  the 
proud  beauty,  the  Juno  of  the  school,  whom  six  long  years  of 
drilling  in  the  simple  grammar  of  the  English  language  had 
compelled,  despite  the  stiff  phlegm  of  her  intellect,  to  acquire  a 
mechanical  acquaintance  with  most  of  its  rules.  No  smile,  no 
trace  of  pleasure  or  satisfaction,  appeared  in  Sylvie's  nun-like 
and  passive  face  as  she  heard  her  name  read  first.  I  always  felt 
saddened  by  the  sight  of  that  poor  girl's  absolute  quiescence  on 
all  occasions,  and  it  was  my  custom  to  look  at  her,  to  address 
her,  as  seldom  as  possible ;  her  extreme  docility,  her  assiduous 
perseverance,  would  have  recommended  her  warmly  to  my  good 
opinion ;  her  modesty,  her  intelligence,  would  have  induced  me 
to  feel  most  kindly,  most  affectionately,  towards  her,  notwith- 
standing the  almost  ghastly  paleness  of  her  features,  the  dis- 
proportion of  her  form,  the  corpse-like  lack  of  animation  in  her 
countenance,  had  I  not  been  aware  that  every  friendly  word, 
every  kindly  action,  would  be  reported  by  her  to  her  confessor, 
and  by  him  misinterpreted  and  poisoned.  Once  I  laid  my  hand 
on  her  head,  in  token  of  approbation ;  I  thought  Sylvie  was 
going  to  smile,  her  dim  eye  almost  kindled  ;  but,  presently,  she 
shrank  from  me  ;  I  was  a  man  and  a  heretic ;  she,  poor  child  ! 
a  destined  nun  and  devoted  Catholic :  thus  a  four-fold  wall  of 
separation  divided  her  mind  from  mine.  A  pert  smirk,  and  a 


THE  PROFESSOR.  Ill 

hard  glance  of  triumph,  was  Leonie's  method  of  testifying  her 
gratification  ;  Eulalie  looked  sullen  and  envious — she  had  hoped 
to  be  first.  Horteuse  and  Caroline  exchanged  a  reckless  grimace 
on  hearing  their  names  read  out  somewhere  near  the  bottom  of 
the  list ;  the  brand  of  mental  inferiority  was  considered  by  them 
as  no  disgrace,  their  hopes  for  the  future  being  based  solely  on 
their  personal  attractions. 

This  affair  arranged,  the  regular  lesson  followed.  During  a 
brief  interval,  employed  by  the  pupils  in  ruling  their  books,  my 
eye,  ranging  carelessly  over  the  benches,  observed,  for  the  first 
time,  that  the  farthest  seat  in  the  farthest  row — a  seat  usually 
vacant — was  again  filled  by  the  new  scholar,  the  Mdlle.  Henri 
so  ostentatiously  recommended  to  me  by  the  directress.  To-day 
I  had  on  my  spectacles ;  her  appearance,  therefore,  was  clear  to 
me  at  the  first  glance ;  I  had  not  to  puzzle  over  it.  She  looked 
young ;  yet  had  I  been  required  to  name  her  exact  age,  I 
should  have  been  somewhat  nonplussed ;  the  slightness  of  her 
figure  might  have  suited  seventeen  ;  a  certain  anxious  and  pre- 
occupied expression  of  face  seemed  the  indication  of  riper  years. 
She  was  dressed,  like  all  the  rest,  in  a  dark  stuff  gown  and  a 
white  collar  ;  her  features  were  dissimilar  to  any  there,  not  so 
rounded,  more  defined,  yet  scarcely  regular.  The  shape  of  her 
head,  too,  was  different,  the  superior  part  more  developed,  the 
base  considerably  less.  I  felt  assured,  at  first  sight,  that  she  was 
not  a  Belgian ;  her  complexion,  her  countenance,  her  linea- 
ments, her  figure,  were  all  distinct  from  theirs,  and  evidently 
the  type  of  another  race — of  a  race  less  gifted  with  fullness  of 
flesh  and  plenitude  of  blood  ;  less  jocund,  material,  unthinking. 
When  I  first  cast  my  eyes  on  her,  she  sat  looking  fixedly  down, 
her  chin  resting  on  her  hand,  and  she  did  not  change  her  atti- 
tude till  I  commenced  the  lesson.  None  of  the  Belgian  girls 
would  have  retained  one  position,  and  that  a  reflective  one,  for 
the  same  length  of  time.  Yet,  having  intimated  that  her 
appearance  was  peculiar,  as  being  unlike  that  of  her  Flemish 
companions,  I  have  little  more  to  say  respecting  it.  I  can  pro- 
nounce no  encomiums  on  her  beauty,  for  she  was  not  beautiful ; 
nor  offer  condolence  on  her  plainness,  for  neither  was  she  plain. 
A  careworn  character  of  forehead,  and  a  corresponding  mould- 
ing of  the  mouth,  struck  me  with  a  sentiment  resembling  sur- 


112  THE  PROFESSOR. 

prise,  but  these  traits  would  probably  have  passed  unnoticed  by 
any  less  crotchety  observer. 

Now,  reader,  though  I  have  spent  more  than  a  page  in 
describing  Mdlle.  Henri,  I  know  well  enough  that  I  have  left  on 
your  mind's  eye  no  distinct  picture  of  her  ;  I  have  not  painted 
her  complexion,  nor  her  eyes,  nor  her  hair,  nor  even  drawn 
the  outline  of  her  shape.  You  cannot  tell  whether  her  nose  was 
aquiline  or  retrousse,  whether  her  chin  was  long  or  short,  her 
face  square  or  oval ;  nor  could  I  the  first  day,  and  it  is  not  my 
intention  to  communicate  to  you  at  once  a  knowledge  I  myself 
gained  by  little  and  little. 

I  gave  a  short  exercise  which  they  all  wrote  down.  I  saw  the 
new  pupil  was  puzzled  at  first  with  the  novelty  of  the  form  and 
language ;  once  or  twice  she  looked  at  me  with  a  sort  of  painful 
solicitude,  as  not  comprehending  at  all  what  I  meant ;  then  she 
was  not  ready  when  the  others  were ;  she  could  not  write  her 
phrases  so  fast  as  they  did  ;  I  would  not  help  her ;  I  went  on 
relentlessly.  She  looked  at  me  ;  her  eye  said  most  plainly,  "  I 
cannot  follow  you."  1  disregarded  the  appeal,  and,  carelessly 
leaning  back  in  my  chair,  glancing  from  time  to  time  with  a 
nonchalant  air  out  of  the  window,  I  dictated  a  little  faster.  On 
looking  towards  her  again,  I  perceived  her  face  clouded  with 
embarrassment,  but  she  was  still  writing  on  most  diligently.  I 
paused  a  few  seconds  ;  she  employed  the  interval  in  hurriedly 
re-perusing  what  she  had  written,  and  shame  and  discomfiture 
were  apparent  in  her  countenance;  she  evidently  found  she 
had  made  great  nonsense  of  it.  In  ten  minutes  more  the  dicta- 
tion was  complete,  and,  having  allowed  a  brief  space  in  which 
to  correct  it,  I  took  their  books.  It  was  with  a  reluctant  hand 
that  Mdlle.  Henri  gave  up  hers,  but  having  once  yielded  it  to 
my  possession,  she  composed  her  anxious  face,  as  if,  for  the  pre- 
sent, she  had  resolved  to  dismiss  regret,  and  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  be  thought  unprecedentedly  stupid.  Glancing  over  her 
exercise,  I  found  that  several  lines  had  been  omitted,  but  what 
was  written  contained  very  few  faults.  I  instantly  inscribed 
"  Bon"  at  the  bottom  of  the  page,  and  returned  it  to  her  ;  she 
smiled,  at  first  incredulously,  then  as  if  reassured,  but  did  not  lift 
her  eyes.  She  could  look  at  me,  it  seemed,  when  perplexed  and 
bewildered,  but  not  when  gratified ;  I  thought  that  scarcely  fair. 


THE  PROFESSOR.  113 


CHAPTER    XV. 

SOME  time  elapsed  before  I  again  gave  a  lesson  in  the  first 
class;  the  holiday  of  Whitsuntide  occupied  three  days, 
and  on  the  fourth  it  was  the  turn  of  the  second  division  to 
receive  my  instructions.  As  I  made  the  transit  of  the  carre",  I 
observed,  as  usual,  the  band  of  sewers  surrounding  Mdlle. 
Henri ;  there  were  only  about  a  dozen  of  them,  but  they  made 
as  much  noise  as  might  have  sufficed  for  fifty ;  they  seemed 
very  little  under  her  control ;  three  or  four  at  once  assailed  her 
with  importunate  requirements;  she  looked  harassed,  she  de- 
manded silence,  but  in  vain.  She  saw  me,  and  I  read  in  her 
eye  pain  that  a  stranger  should  witness  the  insubordination  of 
her  pupils ;  she  seemed  to  entreat  order — her  prayers  were  use- 
less ;  then  I  remarked  that  she  compressed  her  lips  and  con- 
tracted her  brow ;  and  her  countenance,  if  I  read  it  correctly, 
said — "  I  have  done  my  best ;  I  seem  to  merit  blame  notwith- 
standing ;  blame  me  then  who  will."  I  passed  on ;  as  I  closed 
the  schoolroom  door,  I  heard  her  say,  suddenly  and  sharply, 
addressing  one  of  the  eldest  and  most  turbulent  of  the  lot, 
"Amelie  Miillenberg,  ask  me  no  questions,  and  request  of  me 
no  assistance,  for  a  week  to  come ;  during  that  space  of  time  I 
will  neither  speak  to  you  nor  help  you." 

The  words  were  uttered  with  emphasis — nay,  with  vehemence 
— and  a  comparative  silence  followed ;  whether  the  calm  was 
permanent,  I  know  not ;  two  doors  now  closed  between  me  and 
the  carre". 

Next  day  was  appropriated  to  the  first  class;  on  my  arrival, 
I  found  the  directress  seated,  as  usual,  in  a  chair  between  the 
two  estrades,  and  before  her  was  standing  Mdlle.  Henri,  in  an 
attitude  (as  it  seemed  to  me)  of  somewhat  reluctant  attention. 
The  directress  was  knitting  and  talking  at  the  same  time. 
Amidst  the  hum  of  a  large  schoolroom,  it  was  easy  so  to  speak 
in  the  ear  of  one  person,  as  to  be  heard  by  that  person  alone, 
and  it  was  thus  Mdlle.  Renter  parleyed  with  her  teacher.  The 
face  of  the  latter  was  a  little  flushed,  not  a  little  troubled; 


114  THE  PROFESSOR. 

there  was  vexation  in  it,  whence  resulting  I  know  not,  for  the 
directress  looked  very  placid  indeed ;  she  could  not  be  scolding 
in  such  gentle  whispers,  and  with  so  equitable  a  mien  ;  no,  it 
was  presently  proved  that  her  discourse  had  been  of  the  most 
friendly  tendency,  for  I  hea*rd  the  closing  words,  "  C'est  assez, 
ma  bonne  amie ;  a  present  je  ne  veux  pas  vous  retenir  d'avan- 
tage." 

Without  reply,  Mdlle.  Henri  turned  away ;  dissatisfaction 
was  plainly  evinced  in  her  face,  and  a  smile,  slight  and  brief, 
but  bitter,  distrustful,  and,  I  thought,  scornful,  curled  her  lip 
as  she  took  her  place  in  the  class  ;  it  was  a  secret,  involuntary 
smile,  which  lasted  but  a  second ;  an  air  of  depression  succeeded, 
chased  away  presently  by  one  of  attention  and  interest,  when  I 
gave  the  word  for  all  the  pupils  to  take  their  reading-books. 
In  general  I  hated  the  reading-lesson,  it  was  such  a  torture  to 
the  ear  to  listen  to  their  uncouth  mouthing  of  my  native  tongue, 
and  no  effort  of  example  or  precept  on  my  part  ever  seemed  to 
affect  the  slightest  improvement  in  their  accent.  To-day,  each 
in  her  appropriate  key  lisped,  stuttered,  mumbled,  and  jabbered 
as  usual ;  about  fifteen  had  racked  me  in  turu,  and  my  auricu- 
lar nerve  was  expecting  with  resignation  the  discords  of  the  six- 
teenth, when  a  full,  though  low  voice,  read  out,  in  clear,  correct 
English,  "  On  his  way  to  Perth,  the  king  was  met  by  a  High- 
laud  woman,  calling  herself  a  prophetess ;  she  stood  at  the  side 
of  the  ferry  by  which  he  was  about  to  travel  to  the  north,  and 
cried  with  a  loud  voice,  '  My  lord  the  king,  if  you  pass  this 
water  you  will  never  return  again  alive !' " — (vide  History  of 
Scotland). 

I  looked  up  in  amazement ;  the  voice  was  a  voice  of  Albion ; 
the  accent  was  pure  and  silvery  ;  it  only  wanted  firmness  and 
assurance  to  be  the  counterpart  of  what  any  well-educated  lady 
in  Essex  or  Middlesex  might  have  enounced,  yet  the  speaker 
or  reader  was  no  other  than  Mdlle.  Henri,  in  whose  grave,  joy- 
less face  I  saw  no  mark  of  consciousness  that  she  had  performed 
any  extraordinary  feat.  No  one  else  evinced  surprise  either. 
Mdlle.  Reuter  knitted  away  assiduously ;  I  was  aware,  however, 
that  at  the  conclusion  of  the  paragraph,  she  had  lifted  her  eye- 
lid and  honored  me  with  a  glance  sideways  ;  she  did  not  know 
the  full  excellency  of  the  teacher's  style  of  reading,  but  she  per- 


THE  PROFESSOR.  115 

ceived  that  her  accent  was  not  that  of  the  others,  and  wanted  to 
discover  what  I  thought ;  I  masked  my  visage  with  indifference, 
and  ordered  the  next  girl  to  proceed. 

When  the  lesson  was  over,  I  took  advantage  of  the  confusion 
caused  by  breaking  up  to  approach  Mdlle.  Henri ;  she  was  stand- 
ing near  -the  window,  and  retired  as  I  advanced ;  she  thought  I 
wanted  to  look  out,  and  did  not  imagine  that  I  could  have  any- 
thing to  say  to  her.  I  took  her  exercise-book  out  of  her  hand; 
as  I  turned  over  the  leaves  I  addressed  her :  "  You  have  had 
lessons  in  English  before?"  I  asked. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  No !  you  read  it  well ;  you  have  been  in  England  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  !"  with  some  animation. 

"  You  have  been  in  English  families  ?" 

Still  the  answer  was  "  No."  Here  my  eye,  resting  on  the  fly- 
leaf of  the  book,  saw  written,  "  Frances  Evans  Henri." 

"  Your  name  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

My  interrogations  were  cut  short ;  I  heard  a  little  rustling 
behind  me,  and  close  at  my  back  was  the  directress,  professing 
to  be  examining  the  interior  of  a  desk. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  she,  looking  up  and  addressing  the 
teacher,  "  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  go  and  stand  in  the 
corridor,  while  the  young  ladies  are  putting  on  their  things,  and 
try  to  keep  some  order  ?" 

Mdlle.  Henri  obeyed. 

"  What  splendid  weather  !"  observed  the  directress,  cheerfully, 
glancing  at  the  same  time  from  the  window.  I  assented,  and 
was  withdrawing.  "  What  of  your  new  pupil,  Monsieur  ?"  con- 
tinued she,  following  my  retreating  steps.  "  Is  she  likely  to 
make  progress  in  English  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  can  hardly  judge.  She  possesses  a  pretty  good 
accent ;  of  her  real  knowledge  of  the  language  I  have  as  yet 
had  no  opportunity  of  forming  an  opinion." 

"  And  her  natural  capacity,  Monsieur  ?  I  have  had  my  fears 
about  that ;  can  you  relieve  me  by  an  assurance  at  least  of  its 
average  power  ?" 

"  I  see  no  reason  to  doubt  its  average  power,  Mademoiselle, 
but  really  I  scarcely  know  her,  and  have  not  had  time  to  study 


116  THE  PROFESSOR. 

the  calibre  of  her  capacity.  I  wish  you  a  very  good  after- 
noon." 

She  still  pursued  me.  "  You  will  observe,  Monsieur,  and  tell 
me  what  you  think ;  I  could  so  much  better  rely  on  your  opin- 
ion than  on  my  own  ;  women  cannot  judge  of  these  things 
as  men  can,  and,  excuse  my  pertinacity,  Monsieur,  but  it  is 
natural  I  should  feel  interested  about  this  poor  little  girl  (pauvre 
petite)  ;  she  has  scarcely  any  relations,  her  own  efforts  are  all 
she  has  to  look  to,  her  acquirements  must  be  her  sole  fortune ; 
her  present  position  has  once  been  mine,  or  nearly  so  ;  it  is,  then, 
but  natural  I  should  sympathize  with  her;  and  sometimes,  when 
I  see  the  difficulty  she  has  in  managing  pupils,  I  feel  quite 
chagrined.  I  doubt  not  she  does  her  best,  her  intentions  are  ex- 
cellent ;  but,  Monsieur,  she  wants  tact  and  firmness.  I  have 
talked  to  her  on  the  subject,  but  I  am  not  fluent,  and  probably 
did  not  express  myself  with  clearness;  she  never  appears  to 
comprehend  me.  Now,  would  you  occasionally,  when  you  see 
an  opportunity,  slip  in  a  word  of  advice  to  her  on  the  subject ; 
men  have  so  much  more  influence  than  women  have — they 
argue  so  much  more  logically  than  we  do  ;  and  you,  Monsieur, 
in  particular,  have  so  paramount  a  power  of  making  yourself 
obeyed ;  a  word  of  advice  from  you  could  not  but  do  her  good ; 
even  if  she  were  sullen  and  headstrong  (which  I  hope  she  is 
not),  she  would  scarcely  refuse  to  listen  to  you ;  for  my  own 
part,  I  can  truly  say  that  I  never  attend  one  of  your  lessons 
without  deriving  benefit  from  witnessing  your  management  of 
the  pupils.  The  other  masters  are  a  constant  source  of  anxiety 
to  me ;  they  cannot  impress  the  young  ladies  with  sentiments 
of  respect,  nor  restrain  the  levity  natural  to  youth ;  in  you, 
Monsieur,  I  feel  the  most  absolute  confidence ;  try,  then,  to  put 
this  poor  child  into  the  way  of  controlling  our  giddy,  high- 
spirited  Brabantoises.  But,  Monsieur,  one  word  more;  don't 
alarm  her  amour  propre;  beware  of  inflicting  a  wound  there.  I 
reluctantly  admit  that  in  that  particular  she  is  blamably — some 
would  say  ridiculously — susceptible.  I  fear  I  have  touched  this 
sore  point  inadvertently,  and  she  cannot  get  over  it." 

During  the  greater  part  of  this  harangue  my  hand  was  on  the 
lock  of  the  outer  door ;  I  now  turned  it. 

"  Au  revoir,  Mademoiselle,"  said  I,  and  I  escaped.     I  saw  the 


THE  PR  OFESSOR.  117 

directress's  stock  of  words  was  yet  far  from  exhausted.  She 
looked  after  me,  she  would  fain  have  detained  me  longer.  Her 
manner  towards  me  had  been  altered  ever  since  I  had  begun  to 
treat  her  with  hardness  and  indifference :  she  almost  cringed  to 
me  on  every  occasion ;  she  consulted  my  countenance  inces- 
santly, and  beset  me  with  innumerable  little  officious  attentions. 
Servility  creates  despotism.  This  slavish  homage,  instead  of 
softening  my  heart,  only  pampered  whatever  was  stern  and 
exacting  in  its  mood.  The  very  circumstance  of  her  hovering 
round  me  like  a  fascinated  bird,  seemed  to  transform  me  into  a 
rigid  pillar  of  stone ;  her  flatteries  irritated  my  scorn,  her 
blandishments  confirmed  my  reserve.  At  times  I  wondered 
what  she  meant  by  giving  herself  such  trouble  to  win  me,  when 
the  more  profitable  Pelet  was  already  in  her  nets,  and  when, 
too,  she  was  aware  that  I  possessed  her  secret,  for  I  had  not 
scrupled  to  tell  her  as  much ;  but  the  fact  is,  that  as  it  was  her 
nature  to  doubt  the  reality  and  undervalue  the  worth  of 
modesty,  affection,  disinterestedness — to  regard  these  qualities 
as  foibles  of  character — so  it  was  equally  her  tendency  to  con- 
sider pride,  hardness,  selfishness,  as  proofs  of  strength.  She 
would  trample  on  the  neck  of  humility,  she  would  kneel  at  the 
feet  of  disdain ;  she  would  meet  tenderness  with  secret  contempt, 
indifference  she  would  woo  with  ceaseless  assiduities.  Benevo- 
lence, devotedness,  enthusiasm,  were  her  antipathies ;  for  dis- 
simulation and  self-interest  she  had  a  preference — they  were 
real  wisdom  in  her  eyes;  moral  and  physical  degradation, 
mental  and  bodily  inferiority,  she  regarded  with  indulgence ; 
they  were  foils  capable  of  being  turned  to  good  account  as  set- 
offs  for  her  own  endowments.  To  violence,  injustice,  tyranny, 
she  succumbed — they  were  her  natural  masters;  she  had  no 
propensity  to  hate,  no  impulse  to  resist  them ;  the  indignation 
their  behests  awake  in  some  hearts  was  unknown  in  hers.  From 
all  this  it  resulted  that  the  false  and  selfish  called  her  wise,  the 
vulgar  and  debased  termed  her  charitable,  the  insolent  and 
unjust  dubbed  her  amiable,  the  conscientious  and  benevolent 
generally  at  first  accepted  as  valid  her  claim  to  be  considered 
one  of  themselves  ;  but  ere  long  the  plating  of  pretension  wore 
off,  the  real  material  appeared  below  and  they  laid  her  aside 
as  a  deception. 


H8  THE  PROFESSOR. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

IN  the  course  of  another  fortnight  I  had  seen  sufficient  of 
Frances  Evans  Henri  to  enable  me  to  form  a  more  definite 
opinion  of  her  character.  I  found  her  possessed  in  a  somewhat 
remarkable  degree  of  at  least  two  good  points,  viz.  perseverance 
and  a  sense  of  duty ;  I  found  she  was  really  capable  of  applying 
to  study,  of  contending  with  difficulties.  At  first  I  offered  her 
the  same  help  which  I  had  always  found  it  necessary  to  confer 
on  the  others;  I  began  with  unloosing  for  her  each  knotty 
point,  but  I  soon  discovered  that  such  help  was  regarded  by  my 
new  pupil  as  degrading ;  she  recoiled  from  it  with  a  certain 
proud  impatience.  Hereupon  I  appointed  her  long  lessons,  and 
left  her  to  solve  alone  any  perplexities  they  might  present.  She 
set  to  the  task  wTith  serious  ardor,  and  having  quickly  accom- 
plished one  labor,  eagerly  demanded  more.  So  much  for  her 
perseverance ;  as  to  her  sense  of  duty,  it  evinced  itself  thus :  she 
liked  to  learn,  but  hated  to  teach ;  her  progress  as  a  pupil  de- 
pended upon  herself,  and  I  saw  that  on  herself  she  could  calcu- 
late with  certainty ;  her  success  as  a  teacher  rested  partly,  per- 
haps chiefly,  upon  the  will  of  others ;  it  cost  her  a  most  painful 
effort  to  enter  into  conflict  with  this  foreign  will,  to  endeavor  to 
bend  it  into  subjection  to  her  own  ;  for  in  what  regarded  people 
in  general  the  action  of  her  will  was  impeded  by  many  scruples ; 
it  was  as  unembarrassed  as  strong  where  her  own  affairs  were 
concerned,  and  to  it  she  could  at  any  time  subject  her  inclina- 
tion, if  that  inclination  wrent  counter  to  her  convictions  of  right ; 
yet  when  called  upon  to  wrestle  with  the  propensities,  the  habits, 
the  faults  of  others,  of  children  especially,  who  are  deaf  to 
reason,  and,  for  the  most  part,  insensate  to  persuasion,  her  will 
sometimes  almost  refused  to  act ;  then  came  in  the  sense  of  duty, 
and  forced  the  reluctant  will  into  operation.  A  wasteful  ex- 
pense of  energy  and  labor  was  frequently  the  consequence ; 
Frances  toiled  for  and  with  her  pupils  like  a  drudge,  but  it  was 
long  ere  her  conscientious  exertions  were  rewarded  by  anything 
like  docility  on  their  part,  because  they  saw  that  they  had  power 


THE  PROFESSOR.  119 

over  her,  inasmuch  as  by  resisting  her  painful  attempts  to  con- 
vince, persuade,  control — by  forcing  her  to  the  employment  of 
coercive  measures — they  could  inflict  upon  her  exquisite  suffer- 
ing. Human  beings — human  children  especially — seldom  deny 
themselves  the  pleasure  of  exercising  a  power  which  they  are 
conscious  of  possessing,  even  though  that  power  consist  only  in 
a  capacity  to  make  others  wretched ;  a  pupil  whose  sensations 
are  duller  than  those  of  his  instructor,  while  his  nerves  are 
tougher  and  his  bodily  strength  perhaps  greater,  has  an  immense 
advantage  over  that  instructor,  and  he  will  generally  use  it 
relentlessly,  because  the  very  young,  very  healthy,  very  thought- 
less, know  neither  how  to  sympathize  nor  how  to  spare.  Frances, 
I  fear,  suffered  much  ;  a  continual  weight  seemed  to  oppress  her 
spirits ;  I  have  said  she  did  not  live  in  the  house,  and  whether 
in  her  own  abode,  wherever  that  might  be,  she  wore  the  same  pre- 
occupied, unsmiling,  sorrowfully  resolved  air  that  always  shaded 
her  features  under  the  roof  of  Mdlle.  Reuter,  I  could  not  tell. 

One  day  I  gave,  as  a  devoir,  the  trite  little  anecdote  of  Alfred 
tending  cakes  in  the  herdsman's  hut,  to  be  related  with  ampli- 
fications. A  singular  affair  most  of  the  pupils  made  of  it ; 
brevity  was  what  they  had  chiefly  studied ;  the  majority  of  the 
narratives  were  perfectly  unintelligible  ;  those  of  Sylvie  and 
L6onie  Ledru  alone  pretended  to  anything  like  sense  and  con- 
nection. Eulalie,  indeed,  had  hit  upon  a  clever  expedient  for 
at  once  ensuring  accuracy  and  saving  trouble ;  she  had  obtained 
access  somehow  to  an  abridged  history  of  England,  and  had 
copied  the  anecdote  out  fair.  I  wrote  on  the  margin  of  her  pro- 
duction "  Stupid  and  deceitful,"  and  then  tore  it  down  the 
middle. 

Last  in  the  pile  of  single-leaved  devoirs,  I  found  one  of  sev- 
eral sheets,  neatly  written  out  and  stitched  together  j  I  knew 
the  hand,  and  scarcely  needed  the  evidence  of  the  signature, 
"  Frances  Evans  Henri,"  to  confirm  my  conjecture  as  to  the 
writer's  identity. 

Night  was  my  usual  time  for  correcting  devoirs,  and  my  own 
room  the  usual  scene  of  such  task — task  most  onerous  hitherto  ; 
and  it  seemed  strange  to  me  to  feel  rising  within  me  an  incipient 
sense  of  interest,  as  I  snuffed  the  candle  and  addressed  myself 
to  the  perusal  of  the  poor  teacher's  manuscript. 


120  THE  PROFESSOR. 

"  Now,"  thought  I,  "  I  shall  see  a  glimpse  of  what  she  really 
is ;  I  shall  get  an  idea  of  the  nature  and  extent  of  her  powers  ; 
not  that  she  can  be  expected  to  express  herself  well  in  a  foreign 
tongue,  but  still,  if  she  has  any  mind,  here  will  be  a  reflection 
of  it." 

The  narrative  commenced  by  a  description  of  a  Saxon  peas- 
ant's hut,  situated  within  the  confines  of  a  great,  leafless,  winter 
forest ;  it  represented  an  evening  in  December :  flakes  of  snow 
were  falling,  and  the  herdsman  foretold  a  heavy  storm ;  he 
summoned  his  wife  to  aid  him  in  collecting  their  flock,  roaming 
far  away  on  the  pastoral  banks  of  the  Thone :  he  warns  her 
that  it  will  be  late  ere  they  return.  The  good  woman  is  reluc- 
tant to  quit  her  occupation  of  baking  cakes  for  the  evening 
meal ;  but  acknowledging  the  primary  importance  of  securing 
the  herds  and  flocks,  she  puts  on  her  sheepskin  mantle ;  and, 
addressing  a  stranger,  who  rests  half  reclined  on  a  bed  of  rushes 
near  the  hearth,  bids  him  mind  the  bread  till  her  return. 

"  Take  care,  young  man,"  she  continues,  "  that  you  fasten  the 
door  well  after  us :  and,  above  all,  open  to  none  in  our  absence  ; 
whatever  sound  you  hear,  stir  not,  and  look  not  out.  The  night 
will  soon  fall ;  this  forest  is  most  wild  and  lonely ;  strange 
noises  are  often  heard  therein  after  sunset ;  wolves  haunt  these 
glades,  and  Danish  warriors  infest  the  country ;  worse  things 
are  talked  of;  you  might  chance  to  hear,  as  it  were,  a  child  cry, 
and  on  opening  the  door  to  afford  it  succor,  a  great  black  bull, 
or  a  shadowy  goblin  dog,  might  rush  over  the  threshold ;  or, 
more  awful  still,  if  something  flapped,  as  with  wings,  against 
the  lattice,  and  then  a  raven  or  a  white  dove  flew  in  and  settled 
on  the  hearth,  such  a  visitor  would  be  a  sure  sign  of  misfortune 
to  the  house ;  therefore,  heed  my  advice,  and  lift  the  latchet  for 
nothing." 

Her  husband  calls  her  away ;  both  depart.  The  stranger,  left 
alone,  listens  a  while  to  the  muffled  snow-wind,  the  remote, 
swollen  sound  of  the  river,  and  then  he  speaks. 

"  It  is  Christmas  eve,"  says  he ;  "I  mark  the  date ;  here  I  sit 
alone  on  a  rude  couch  of  rushes,  sheltered  by  the  thatch  of  a 
herdsman's  hut ;  I,  whose  inheritance  was  a  kingdom,  owe  my 
night's  harborage  to  a  poor  serf.  My  throne  is  usurped,  my 
crown  presses  the  brow  of  an  invader ;  I  have  no  friends ;  my 


THE  PROFESSOR.  121 

troops  wander  broken  in  the  hills  of  Wales ;  reckless  robbers 
spoil  my  country;  my  subjects  lie  prostrate,  their  breasts 
crushed  by  the  heel  of  the  brutal  Dane.  Fate !  thou  hast  done 
thy  worst,  and  now  thou  standest  before  me  resting  thy  hand  on 
thy  blunted  blade.  Ay;  I  see  thine  eye  confront  mine,  and 
demand  why  I  still  live,  why  I  still  hope.  Pagan  demon,  I 
credit  not  thine  omnipotence,  and  so  cannot  succumb  to  thy 
power.  My  God,  whose  Son,  on  this  night,  took  on  Him  the 
form  of  man,  and  for  man  vouchsafed  to  suffer  and  bleed,  con- 
trols thy  hand,  and  without  his  behest  thou  canst  not  strike  a 
stroke.  My  God  is  sinless,  eternal,  all-wise — in  Him  is  my 
trust ;  and  though  stripped  and  crushed  by  thee — though  naked, 
desolate,  void  of  resource — I  do  not  despair,  I  cannot  despair ; 
were  the  lance  of  Guthrum  now  wet  with  my  blood,  I  should  not 
despair.  I  watch,  I  toil,  I  hope,  I  pray.  Jehovah,  in  his  own 
time,  will  aid." 

I  need  not  continue  the  quotation  ;  the  whole  devoir  was  in 
the  same  strain.  There  were  errors  of  orthography,  there  were 
foreign  idioms,  there  were  some  faults  of  construction,  there  were 
verbs  irregular  transformed  into  verbs  regular;  it  was  mostly 
made  up,  as  the  above  example  shows,  of  short  and  somewhat 
rude  sentences,  and  the  style  stood  in  great  need  of  polish  and 
sustained  dignity ;  yet  such  as  it  was,  I  had  hitherto  seen 
nothing  like  it  in  the  course  of  my  professional  experience. 
The  girl's  mind  had  conceived  a  picture  of  the  hut,  of  the  two 
peasants,  of  the  crownless  king ;  she  had  imagined  the  wintry 
forest,  she  had  recalled  the  old  Saxon  ghost-legends,  she  had 
appreciated  Alfred's  courage  under  calamity,  she  had  remem- 
bered his  Christian  education,  and  had  shown  him,  with  the 
rooted  confidence  of  those  primitive  days,  relying  on  the  scrip- 
tural Jehovah  for  aid  against  the  mythological  Destiny.  This 
she  had  done  without  a  hint  from  me ;  I  had  given  the  subject, 
but  not  said  a  word  about  the  manner  of  treating  it. 

"  I  will  find,  or-  make,  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  her,"  I 
said  to  myself  as  I  rolled  the  devoir  up ;  "  I  will  learn  what  she 
has  of  English  in  her  besides  the  name  of  Frances  Evans;  she 
is  no  novice  in  the  language,  that  is  evident ;  yet  she  told  me 
she  had  neither  been  in  England,  nor  taken  lessons  in  English, 
nor  lived  in  English  families." 


122  THE  PROFESSOR. 

In  the  course  of  my  next  lesson,  I  made  a  report  of  the  oth.  r 
devoirs,  dealing  out  praise  and  blame  in  very  small  retail  par- 
cels, according  to  my  custom,  for  there  was  no  use  in  blaming 
severely,  and  high  encomiums  were  rarely  merited.  I  said 
nothing  of  Mdlle.  Henri's  exercise,  and,  spectacles  on  nose,  I 
endeavored  to  decipher  in  her  countenance  her  sentiments  at 
the  omission.  I  wanted  to  find  out  whether  in  her  existed  a 
consciousness  of  her  own  talents.  "If  she  thinks  she  did  a 
clever  thing  in  composing  that  devoir,  she  will  now  look  morti- 
fied," thought  I.  Grave  as  usual,  almost  sombre,  was  her  face; 
as  usual,  her  eyes  were  fastened  on  the  cahier  open  before  her; 
there  was  something,  I  thought,  of  expectation  in  her  attitude, 
as  I  concluded  a  brief  review  of  the  last  devoir,  and  when, 
casting  it  from  me  and  rubbing  my  hands,  I  bade  them  take 
their  grammars,  some  slight  change  did  pass  over  her  air  and 
mien,  as  though  she  now  relinquished  a  faint  prospect  of 
pleasant  excitement ;  she  had  been  waiting  for  something  to  be 
discussed  in  which  she  had  a  degree  of  interest ;  the  discussion 
was  not  to  come  on,  so  expectation  sank  back,  shrunk  and  sad, 
but  attention,  promptly  filling  up  the  void,  repaired  in  a 
moment  the  transient  collapse  of  feature ;  still,  I  felt,  rather 
than  saw,  during  the  whole  course  of  the  lesson,  that  a  hope 
had  been  wrenched  from  her,  and  that  if  she  did  not  show  dis- 
tress, it  was  because  she  would  not. 

At  four  o'clock,  when  the  bell  rang  and  the  room  was  in 
immediate  tumult,  instead  of  taking  my  hat  and  starting  from 
the  estrade,  I  sat  still  a  moment.  I  looked  at  Frances ;  she  was 
putting  her  books  into  her  cabas ;  having  fastened  the  button, 
she  raised  her  head ;  encountering  my  eye,  she  made  a  quiet, 
respectful  obeisance,  as  bidding  good-afternoon,  and  was  turning 
to  depart. 

"  Come  here,"  said  I,  lifting  my  finger  at  the  same  time.  She 
hesitated;  she  could  not  hear  the  words  amidst  the  uproar 
now  pervading  both  schoolrooms;  I  repeated  the  sign;  she 
approached ;  again  she  paused  within  half  a  yard  of  the 
estrade,  and  looked  shy,  and  still  doubtful  whether  she  had 
mistaken  my  meaning. 

"Step  up,"  I  said,  speaking  with  decision.  It  is  the  only 
way  of  dealing  with  diffident,  easily-embarrassed  characters, 


THE  PROFESSOR.  123 

and  with  some  slight  manual  aid  I  presently  got  her  placed  just 
where  I  wanted  her  to  be,  that  is,  between  my  desk  and  the 
window,  where  she  was  screened  from  the  rush  of  the  second 
division,  and  where  no  one  could  sneak  behind  her  to  listen. 

"  Take  a  seat,"  I  said,  placing  a  tabouret ;  and  I  made  her 
sit  down.  I  knew  what  I  was  doing  Avould  be  considered  a 
very  strange  thing,  and,  what  was  more,  I  did  not  care. 
Frances  knew  it  also,  and  I  fear,  by  an  appearance  of  agitation 
and  trembling,  that  she  cared  much.  I  drew  from  my  pocket 
the  rolled-up  devoir. 

"  This  is  yours,  I  suppose  ?"  said  I,  addressing  her  in  English, 
for  I  now  felt  sure  she  could  speak  English. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  distinctly ;  and  as  I  unrolled  it  and  laid 
it  out  flat  on  the  desk  before  her  with  my  hand  upon  it,  and  a 
pencil  in  that  hand,  I  saw  her  moved,  and,  as  it  were,  kindled ; 
her  depression  beamed  as  a  cloud  might  behind  which  the  sun 
is  burning. 

"  This  devoir  has  numerous  faults,"  said  I.  "  It  will  take 
you  some  years  of  careful  study  before  you  are  in  a  condition 
to  write  English  with  absolute  correctness.  Attend:  I  will 
point  out  some  principal  defects."  And  I  went  through  it 
carefully,  noting  every  error,  and  demonstrating  why  they  were 
errors,  and  how  the  words  or  phrases  ought  to  have  been  written. 
In  the  course  of  this  sobering  process  she  became  calm.  I  now 
went  on : — "  As  to  the  substance  of  your  devoir,  Mdlle.  Henri, 
it  has  surprised  me ;  I  perused  it  with  pleasure,  because  I  saw 
in  it  some  proofs  of  taste  and  fancy.  Taste  and  fancy  are  not 
the  highest  gifts  of  the  human  mind,  but  such  as  they  are  you 
possess  them — not  probably  in  a  paramount  degree,  but  in  a 
degree  beyond  what  the  majority  can  boast.  You  may,  then, 
take  courage ;  cultivate  the  faculties  that  God  and  nature  have 
bestowed  on  you,  and  do  not  fear  in  any  crisis  of  suffering, 
under  any  pressure  of  injustice,  to  derive  free  and  full  conso- 
lation from  the  consciousness  of  their  strength  and  rarity." 

"  Strength  and  rarity!"  I  repeated  to  myself;  "ay,  the  Avords 
are  probably  true,"  for  on  looking  up,  I  saw  that  the  sun  had 
dissevered  its  screening  cloud  ;  her  countenance  was  transfigured, 
a  smile  shone  in  her  eyes — a  smile  almost  triumphant;  it 
seemed  to  say,  "  I  am  glad  you  have  been  forced  to  discover  so 


124  THE  PROFESSOR. 

much  of  my  nature  ;  you  need  not  so  carefully  moderate  your 
language.  Do  you  think  I  am  myself  a  stranger  to  myself? 
What  you  tell  me  in  terms  so  qualified,  I  have  known  fully 
from  a  child." 

She  did  say  this  as  plainly  as  a  frank  and  flashing  glance 
could,  but  in  a  moment  the  glow  of  her  complexion,  the  radi- 
ance of  her  aspect,  had  subsided ;  if  strongly  conscious  of  her 
talents,  she  was  equally  conscious  of  her  harassing  defects,  and 
the  remembrance  of  these,  obliterated  for  a  single  second,  now 
reviving  with  sudden  force,  at  once  subdued  the  too  vivid  cha- 
racters in  which  her  sense  of  her  powers  had  been  expressed. 
So  quick  was  the  revulsion  of  feeling,  I  had  not  time  to  check 
her  triumph  by  reproof ;  ere  I  could  contract  my  brows  to  a 
frown,  she  had  become  serious  and  almost  mournful-looking. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  she,  rising.  There  was  gratitude  both 
in  her  voice  and  in  the  look  with  which  she  accompanied  it.  It 
was  time,  indeed,  for  our  conference  to  terminate,  for,  when  I 
glanced  around,  behold  all  the  boarders  (the  day-scholars  had 
departed)  were  congregated  within  a  yard  or  two  of  my  desk, 
and  stood  staring  with  eyes  and  mouth  wide  open ;  the  three 
maitresses  formed  a  whispering  knot  in  one  corner,  and  close 
at  my  elbow  was  the  directress,  sitting  on  a  low  chair,  calmly 
clipping  the  tassels  of  her  finished  purse. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  FTEE,  all,  I  had  profited  but  imperfectly  by  the  oppor- 
J\  tunity  I  had  so,  boldly  achieved  of  speaking  to  Mdlle. 
Henri.  It  was  my  intention  to  ask  her  how  she  came  to  be 
possessed  of  two  English  baptismal  names,  Frances  and  Evans, 
in  addition  to  her  French  surname,  also  whence  she  derived  her 
good  accent.  I  had  forgotten  both  points,  or,  rather,  our  col- 
loquy had  been  so  brief  that  I  had  not  had  time  to  bring  them 
forward ;  moreover,  I  had  not  half  tested  her  powers  of  speak- 


THE  PROFESSOR.  125 

ing  English ;  all  I  had  drawn  from  her  in  that  language  were 
the  words  "  Yes,"  and  "  Thank  you,  sir."  "  No  matter,"  I  re- 
flected. "  What  has  been  left  incomplete  now,  shall  be  finished 
another  day."  Nor  did  I  fail  to  keep  the  promise  thus  made  to 
myself.  It  was  difficult  to  get  even  a  few  words  of  particular 
conversation  with  one  pupil  among  so  many  ;  but,  according  to 
the  old  proverb,  "  Where  there  is  a  will,  there  is  a  way ;"  and 
again  and  again  I  managed  to  find  an  opportunity  for  ex- 
changing a  few  words  with  Mdlle.  Henri,  regardless  that  envy 
stared  and  detraction  whispered  whenever  I  approached  her. 

"  Your  book  an  instant."  Such  was  the  mode  in  which  I 
often  began  these  brief  dialogues ;  the  time  was  always  just 
at  the  conclusion  of  the  lesson ;  and  motioning  her  to  rise,  I  in- 
stalled myself  in  her  place,  allowing  her  to  stand  deferentially 
at  my  side,  for  I  esteemed  it  wise  and  right  in  her  case  to 
enforce  strictly  all  forms  ordinarily  in  use  between  master  and 
pupil, — the  rather  because  I  perceived  that  in  proportion  as  my 
manner  grew  austere  and  magisterial,  hers  became  easy  and 
self-possessed — an  odd  contradiction,  doubtless,  to  the  ordinary 
effect  in  such  cases  ;  but  so  it  was. 

"  A  pencil,"  said  I,  holding  out  my  hand  without  looking  at 
her.  (I  am  now  about  to  sketch  a  brief  report  of  the  first  of 
these  conferences.)  She  gave  me  one,  and  while  I  underlined 
some  errors  in  a  grammatical  exercise  she  had  written,  I 
observed,  "  You  are  not  a  native  of  Belgium  ?" 

"  No." 

"Nor  of  France?" 

"  No." 

"Where,  then,  is  your  birthplace?" 

"  I  was  born  at  Geneva." 

"You  don't  call  Frances  and  Evans  Swiss  names,  I  pre- 
sume?" 

"  No,  sir ;  they  are  English  names." 

"  Just  so ;  and  is  it  the  custom  of  the  Genevese  to  give  their 
children  English  appellatives?" 

"  Non,  Monsieur  ;  inais 

"  Speak  English,  if  you  please." 

"  \Taie " 

JSUMaS 

"  English " 


126  THE  PROFESSOR. 

"  But "  (slowly  and  with  embarrassment)  "  my  parents  were 
not  all  the  two  Genevese." 

"  Say  both,  instead  of '  all  the  two,'  Mademoiselle." 

"  Not  both  Swiss ;  my  mother  was  English." 

"  Ah !  and  of  English  extraction  ?" 

"  Yes — her  ancestors  were  all  English." 

"And  your  father?" 

"  He  was  Swiss." 

"  What  besides  ?    What  was  his  profession  ?" 

"  Ecclesiastic — pastor — he  had  a  church." 

"  Since  your  mother  is  an  Englishwoman,  why  do  you  not 
speak  English  with  more  facility  ?" 

"  Marnau  est  morte  il  y  a  dix  ans." 

"  And  you  do  homage  to  her  memory  by  forgetting  her  lan- 
guage. Have  the  goodness  to  put  French  out  of  your  mind  so 
long  as  I  converse  with  you — keep  to  English." 

"  C'est  si  difficile,  Monsieur,  quand  on  n'en  a  plus  1'habitude." 

"  You  had  the  habitude  formerly,  I  suppose  ?  Now  answer 
roe  in  your  mother  tongue." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  spoke  the  English  more  than  the  French  when  I 
was  a  child." 

"  Why  do  you  not  speak  it  now  ?" 

"  Because  I  have  no  English  friends." 

"  You  live  with  your  father,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  My  father  is  dead." 

"  You  have  brothers  and  sisters  ?" 

"  Not  one." 

"  Do  you  live  alone  ?" 

"  No — I  have  an  aunt — ma  tante  Julienne." 

"Your  father's  sister?" 

"  Justement,  Monsieur." 

"  Is  that  English  ?" 

"  No— but  I  forget— 

"  For  which,  Mademoiselle,  if  you  were  a  child,  I  should  cer- 
tainly devise  some  slight  punishment ;  at  your  age — you  must 
be  two  or  three  and  twenty,  I  should  think  ?" 

"  Pas  encore,  Monsieur — en  un  mois  j'aurai  dix-neuf  ans." 

"  Well,  nineteen  is  a  mature  age,  and,  having  attained  it,  you 
ought  to  be  so  solicitous  for  your  own  improvement,  that  it 


THE  PROFESSOR.  127 

should  not  be  needful  for  a  master  to  remind  you  twice  of  the 
expediency  of  your  speaking  English  Avhenever  practicable." 

To  this  wise  speech  I  received  no  answer;  and  when  I  looked 
up,  my  pupil  was  smiling  to  herself  a  much-meaning  though 
not  very  gay  smile ;  it  seemed  to  say,  "  He  talks  of  he  knows 
not  what :"  it  said  this  so  plainly,  that  I  determined  to  request 
information  on  the  point  concerning  which  my  ignorance  seemed 
to  be  thus  tacitly  affirmed. 

"  Are  you  solicitous  for  your  own  improvement  ?" 

"  Eather." 

"  How  do  you  prove  it,  Mademoiselle  ?" 

An  odd  question,  and  bluntly  put ;  it  excited  a  second  smile. 

"  Why,  Monsieur,  I  am  not  inattentive — am  I  ?  I  learn  my 
lessons  well " 

"  Oh,  a  child  can  do  that !  and  what  more  do  you  do  ?" 

"  What  more  can  I  do  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly,  not  much ;  but  you  are  a  teacher,  are  you 
not,  as  well  as  a  pupil  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  You  teach  lace-mending  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  A  dull,  stupid  occupation  ;  do  you  like  it  ?" 

"  No — it  is  tedious." 

"Why  do  you  pursue  it?  Why  do  you  not  rather  teach 
history,  geography,  grammar,  even  arithmetic?" 

"  Is  Monsieur  certain  that  I  am  myself  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  these  studies  ?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  you  ought  to  be,  at  your  age." 

"But  I  never  was  at  school,  Monsieur — 

"  Indeed !  What,  then,  were  your  friends — what  was  your 
aunt  about  ?  She  is  very  much  to  blame." 

"  No,  Monsieur,  no — my  aunt  is  good — she  is  not  to  blame — 
she  does  what  she  can  ;  she  lodges  and  nourishes  me"  (I  report 
Mdlle.  Henri's  phrases  literally,  and  it  was  thus  she  translated 
from  the  French).  "  She  is  not  rich  ;  she  has  only  an  annuity 
of  twelve  hundred  francs,  and  it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to 
send  me  to  school." 

"  Rather,"  thought  I  to  myself  on  hearing  this,  but  I  con- 
tinued, in  the  dogmatical  tone  I  had  adopted : — "  It  is  sad, 


128  THE  PROFESSOR. 

however,  that  you  should  be  brought  up  in  ignorance  of  the 
most  ordinary  branches  of  education;  had  you  known  some- 
thing of  history  and  grammar  you  might,  by  degrees,  have 
relinquished  your  lace-mending  drudgery,  and  risen  in  the 
world." 

"  It  is  what  I  mean  to  do." 

"  How  ?  By  a  knowledge  of  English  alone  ?  That  will  not 
suffice;  no  respectable  family  will  receive  a  governess  whose 
whole  stock  of  knowledge  consists  in  a  familiarity  with  one 
foreign  language." 

"  Monsieur,  I  know  other  things." 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  can  work  with  Berlin  wools,  and  embroider 
handkerchiefs  and  collars — that  will  do  little  for  you." 

Mdlle.  Henri's  lips  were  unclosed  to  answer,  but  she  checked 
herself,  as  thinking  the  discussion  had  been  sufficiently  pursued, 
and  remained  silent. 

"  Speak,"  I  continued,  impatiently ;  "  I  never  like  the  appear- 
ance of  acquiescence  when  the  reality  is  not  there  ;  and  you  had 
a  contradiction  at  your  tongue's  end." 

"  Monsieur,  I  have  had  many  lessons  both  in  grammar, 
history,  geography,  and  arithmetic.  I  have  gone  through  a 
course  of  each  study." 

"  Bravo !  but  how  did  you  manage  it,  since  your  aunt  could 
not  afford  to  send  you  to  school  ?" 

"  By  lace-mending ;  by  the  thing  Monsieur  despises  so  much." 

"  Truly !  And  now,  Mademoiselle,  it  will  be  a  good  exercise 
for  you  to  explain  to  me  in  English  how  such  a  result  was  pro- 
duced by  such  means." 

"  Monsieur,  I  begged  my  aunt  to  have  me  taught  lace-mend- 
ing soon  after  we  came  to  Brussels,  because  I  knew  it  was  a 
metier,  a  trade  which  was  easily  learnt,  and  by  which  I  could 
earn  some  money  very  soon.  I  learnt  it  in  a  few  days,  and  I 
quickly  got  work,  for  all  the  Brussels  ladies  have  old  lace — 
very  precious — which  must  be  mended  all  the  times  it  is 
washed.  I  earned  money  a  little,  and  this  money  I  gave  for 
lessons  in  the  studies  I  have  mentioned ;  some  of  it  I  spent  in 
buying  books,  English  books  especially ;  soon  I  shall  try  to  find 
a  place  of  governess,  or  school-teacher,  when  I  can  write  and 
speak  English  well ;  but  it  will  be  difficult,  because  those  who 


THE  PROFESSOR.  129 

know  I  have  been  a  lace-mender  will  despise  me,  as  the  pupils 
here  despise  me.  Pourtant  j'ai  mon  projet,"  she  added  in  a 
lower  tone. 

"  What  is  it  ?" 

"  I  will  go  and  live  in  England  ;  I  will  teach  French  there." 

The  words  were  pronounced  emphatically.  She  said  "  Eng- 
land" as  you  might  suppose  an  Israelite  of  Moses'  days  would 
have  said  Canaan. 

"  You  have  a  wish  to  see  England  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  an  intention." 

And  here  a  voice,  the  voice  of  the  directress,  interposed  : — 
"  Mademoiselle  Henri,  je  crois  qu'il  va  pleuvoir ;  vous  feriez 
bien,  ma  bonne  amie,  de  retourner  chez  vous  tout  de  suite." 

In  silence,  without  a  word  of  thanks  for  this  officious  warn- 
ing, Mdlle.  Henri  collected  her  books ;  she  moved  to  me  respect- 
fully, endeavored  to  move  to  her  superior,  though  the  endeavor 
was  almost  a  failure,  for  her  head  seemed  as  if  it  would  not 
bend,  and  thus  departed. 

Where  there  is  one  grain  of  perseverance  or  wilfulness  in  the 
composition,  trifling  obstacles  are  ever  known  rather  to  stimu- 
late thau  discourage.  Mdlle.  Renter  might  as  well  have  spared 
herself  the  trouble  of  giving  that  intimation  about  the  weather 
(by-the-by  her  prediction  was  falsified  by  the  event — it  did  not 
rain  that  evening).  At  the  close  of  the  next  lesson  I  was  again 
at  Mdlle.  Henri's  desk.  Thus  did  I  accost  her : — "  What  is 
your  idea  of  England,  Mademoiselle  ?  Why  do  you  wish  to  go 
there?" 

Accustomed  by  this  time  to  the  calculated  abruptness  of  my 
manner,  it  no  longer  discomposed  or  surprised  her,  and  she 
answered  with  only  so  much  of  hesitation  as  was  rendered 
inevitable  by  the  difficulty  she  experienced  in  improvising  the 
translation  of  her  thoughts  from  French  to  English. 

"  England  is  something  unique,  as  I  have  heard  and  read ; 
my  idea  of  it  is  vague,  and  I  want  to  go  there  to  render  my  idea 
clear,  definite." 

"  Hum !  How  much  of  England  do  you  suppose  you  could 
see  if  you  went  there  in  the  capacity  of  a  teacher?  A  strange 
notion  you  must  have  of  getting  a  clear  and  definite  idea  of  a 
country !  All  you  could  see  of  Great  Britain  would  be  the 


130  THE  PROFESSOR. 

interior  of  a  school,  or  at  most,  of  one  or  two  private  dwel- 
lings." 

"It  would  be  an  English  school;  they  would  be  English 
dwellings." 

"  Indisputably ;  but  what  then  ?  What  would  be  the  value 
of  observations  made  on  a  scale  so  narrow  ?" 

"Monsieur,  might  not  one  learn  something  by  analogy? 
An — echantillon — a — a  sample  often  serves  to  give  an  idea  of 
the  whole ;  besides,  narrow  and  wide  are  words  comparative, 
are  they  not  ?  All  my  life  would  perhaps  seem  narrow  in  your 
eyes — all  the  life  of  a — that  little  animal  subterranean — une 
taupe — comment  dit-on?" 

"  Mole." 

"  Yes — a  mole,  which  lives  underground,  would  seem  narrow 
even  to  me." 

"  Well,  Mademoiselle — what  then  ?    Proceed." 

"  Mais,  Monsieur,  vous  me  comprenez." 

"  Not  in  the  least ;  have  the  goodness  to  explain." 

"  Why,  Monsieur,  it  is  just  so.  In  Switzerland  I  have  done 
but  little,  learnt  but  little,  and  seen  but  little ;  my  life  there 
was  in  a  circle ;  I  walked  the  same  round  every  day  ;  I  could 
not  get  out  of  it ;  had  I  rested — remained  there  even  till  my 
death,  I  should  never  have  enlarged  it,  because  I  am  poor  and 
not  skilful,  I  have  not  great  acquirements ;  when  I  was  quite 
tired  of  this  round,  I  begged  my  aunt  to  go  to  Brussels ;  my 
existence  is  no  larger  here,  because  I  am  no  richer  or  higher ; 
I  walk  in  as  narrow  a  limit,  but  the  scene  is  changed  ;  it  would 
change  again  if  I  went  to  England.  I  knew  something  of  the 
bourgeois  of  Geneva,  now  I  know  something  of  the  bourgeois 
of  Brussels ;  if  I  went  to  London,  I  should  know  something 
of  the  bourgeois  of  London.  Can  you  make  any  sense  out 
of  what  I  say,  Monsieur,  or  is  it  all  obscure  ?" 

"  I  see,  I  see — now  let  us  advert  to  another  subject;  you  pro- 
pose to  devote  your  life  to  teaching,  and  you  are  a  most  unsuc- 
cessful teacher ;  you  cannot  keep  your  pupils  in  order." 

A  flush  of  painful  confusion  was  the  result  of  this  harsh 
remark ;  she  bent  her  head  to  the  desk,  but  soon  raising  it, 
replied — "Monsieur,  I  am  not  a  skilful  teacher,  it  is  true,  but 
practice  improves ;  besides,  I  work  under  difficulties  ;  here  I  only 


THE  PROFESSOR.  131 

teach  sewing ;  I  can  show  no  power  in  sewing,  no  superiority — 
it  is  a  subordinate  art;  then  I  have  no  associates  here,  I  am 
isolated ;  I  am,  too,  a  heretic,  which  deprives  me  of  influence." 

"  And  in  England  you  would  be  a  foreigner ;  that  too  would 
deprive  you  of  influence,  and  would  effectually  separate  you 
from  all  round  you ;  in  England  you  would  have  as  few  connec- 
tions, as  little  importance,  as  you  have  here." 

"But  I  should  be  learning  something;  for  the  rest,  there  are 
probably  difficulties  for  such  as  I  everywhere,  and  if  I  must 
contend,  and  perhaps  be  conquered,  I  would  rather  submit  to 

English  pride  than  to  Flemish  coarseness ;  besides, " 

She  stopped — not  evidently  from  any  difficulty  in  finding 
words  to  express  herself,  but  because  discretion  seemed  to  say, 
"  You  have  said  enough." 

"  Finish  your  phrase,"  I  urged. 

"  Besides,  Monsieur,  I  long  to  live  once  more  among  Pro- 
testants ;  they  are  more  honest  than  Catholics ;  a  Romish  school 
is  a  building  with  porous  walls,  a  hollow  floor,  a  false  ceiling ; 
every  room  in  this  house,  Monsieur,  has  eye-holes  and  ear-holes, 
and  what  the  house  is,  the  inhabitants  are,  very  treacherous ; 
they  all  think  it  lawful  to  tell  lies ;  they  all  call  it  politeness  to 
profess  friendship  where  they  feel  hatred." 

"  All  ?"  said  I ;  "  you  mean  the  pupils — the  mere  children — 
inexperienced,  giddy  things,  who  have  not  learnt  to  distinguish 
the  difference  between  right  and  wrong  ?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  Monsieur — the  children  are  the  most  sin- 
cere ;  they  have  not  yet  had  time  to  become  accomplished  in 
duplicity ;  they  will  tell  lies,  but  they  do  it  inartificially,  and 
you  know  they  are  lying ;  but  the  grown-up  people  are  very 
false ;  they  deceive  strangers,  they  deceive  each  other — 
A  servant  here  entered. 

"  Mdlle.  Henri — Mdlle.  Reuter  vous  prie  de  vouloir  bien  con- 
duire  la  petite  de  Dorlodot  chez  elle :  elle  vous  attend  dans  le 
cabinet  de  Rosalie  la  portiere — c'est  que  sa  bonne  n'est  pas 
venue  la  chercher — voyez-vous." 

"Eh  bien!  est-ce  que  je  suis  sa  bonne — moi?"  demanded 
Mdlle.  Henri;  then  smiling,  with  that  same  bitter,  derisive 
smile  I  had  seen  on  her  lips  once  before,  she  hastily  rose  and 
made  her  exit. 


132  THE  PROFESSOR. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

young  Anglo-Swiss  evidently  derived  both  pleasure  and 
I  profit  from  the  study  of  her  mother-tongue.  In  teaching 
her  I  did  not,  of  course,  confine  myself  to  the  ordinary  school 
routine ;  I  made  instruction  in  English  a  channel  for  instruc- 
tion in  literature.  I  prescribed  to  her  a  course  of  reading  ;  she 
had  a  little  selection  of  English  classics,  a  few  of  which  had  been 
left  her  by  her  mother,  and  the  others  she  had  purchased  with 
her  own  penny-fee.  I  lent  her  some  more  modern  works ;  all 
these  she  read  with  avidity,  giving  me,  in  writing,  a  clear  sum- 
mary of  each  work  when  she  had  perused  it.  Composition,  too, 
she  delighted  in.  Such  occupation  seemed  the  very  breath  of 
her  nostrils,  and  soon  her  improved  productions  wrung  from  me 
the  avowal  that  those  qualities  in  her  I  had  termed  taste  and 
fancy  ought  rather  to  have  been  denominated  judgment  and 
imagination.  When  I  intimated  so  much,  which  I  did,  as  usual, 
in  dry  and  stinted  phrase,  I  looked  for  the  radiant  and  exulting 
smile  my  one  word  of  eulogy  had  elicited  before  ;  but  Frances 
colored.  If  she  did  smile,  it  was  very  softly  and  shyly ;  and 
instead  of  looking  up  to  me  with  a  conquering  glance,  her  eyes 
rested  on  my  hand,  which,  stretched  over  her  shoulder,  was 
writing  some  directions  with  a  pencil  on  the  margin  of  her 
book. 

"  Well,  are  you  pleased  that  I  am  satisfied  with  your  pro- 
gress ?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  slowly,  gently,  the  blush  that  had  half  sub- 
sided returning. 

"  But  I  do  not  say  enough,  I  suppose  ?"  I  continued.  "  My 
praises  are  too  cool  ?" 

She  made  no  answer,  and  I  thought  looked  a  little  sad.  I 
divined  her  thoughts,  and  should  much  have  liked  to  have 
responded  to  them,  had  it  been  expedient  so  to  do.  She  was  not 
now  very  ambitious  of  my  admiration — not  eagerly  desirous 
of  dazzling  me ;  a  little  affection — ever  so  little — pleased  her 
better  than  all  the  panegyrics  in  the  world.  Feeling  this,  I 


THE  PROFESSOR.  133 

stood  a  good  while  behind  her,  writing  on  the  margin  of  her 
book.  I  could  hardly  quit  my  station  or  relinquish  my  occupa- 
tion ;  something  retained  me  bending  there,  my  head  very  near 
hers,  and  my  hand  near  hers  too ;  but  the  margin  of  a  copy- 
book is  not  an  illimitable  space — so  doubtless  the  directress 
thought ;  and  she  took  occasion  to  walk  past,  in  order  to  ascer- 
tain by  what  art  I  prolonged  so  disproportionately  the  period 
necessary  for  filling  it.  I  was  obliged  to  go.  Distasteful  effort, 
to  leave  what  we  most  prefer ! 

Frances  did  not  become  pale  or  feeble  in  consequence  of  her 
sedentary  employment ;  perhaps  the  stimulus  it  communicated 
to  her  mind  counterbalanced  the  inaction  it  imposed  on  her 
body.  She  changed,  indeed,  changed  obviously  and  rapidly; 
but  it  was  for  the  better.  When  I  first  saw  her,  her  counte- 
nance was  sunless,  her  complexion  colorless  ;  she  looked  like 
one  who  had  no  source  of  enjoyment,  no  store  of  bliss  anywhere 
in  the  world ;  now  the  cloud  had  passed  from  her  mien,  leaving 
space  for  the  dawn  of  hope  and  interest,  and  those  feelings  rose 
like  a  clear  morning,  animating  what  had  been  depressed,  tint- 
ing what  had  been  pale.  Her  eyes,  whose  color  I  had  not  at 
first  known,  so  dim  were  they  with  repressed  tears,  so  shadowed 
with  ceaseless  dejection,  now,  lit  by  a  ray  of  the  sunshine  that 
cheered  her  heart,  revealed  irids  of  bright  hazel — irids  large 
and  full,  screened  with  long  lashes — and  pupils  instinct  with 
fire.  That  look  of  wan  emaciation  which  anxiety  or  low  spirits 
often  communicates  to  a  thoughtful,  thin  face,  rather  long  than 
round,  having  vanished  from  hers,  a  clearness  of  skin  almost 
bloom,  and  a  plumpness  almost  embonpoint,  softened  the  de- 
cided lines  of  her  features.  Her  figure  shared  in  this  beneficial 
change ;  it  became  rounder,  and  as  the  harmony  of  her  form 
was  complete  and  her  stature  of  the  graceful  middle  height,  one 
did  not  regret  (or  at  least  I  did  not  regret)  the  absence  of  con- 
firmed fullness,  in  contours,  still  slight,  though  compact,  ele- 
gant, flexible — the  exquisite  turning  of  waist,  wrist,  hand,  foot, 
and  ankle  satisfied  completely  my  notions  of  symmetry,  and 
allowed  a  lightness  and  freedom  of  movement  which  corres- 
ponded with  my  ideas  of  grace. 

Thus  improved,  thus  wakened  to  life,  Mdlle.  Henri  began  to 
take  a  new  footing  in  the  school ;  her  mental  power,  manifested 


134  TEE  PROFESSOR. 

gradually  but  steadily,  ere  long  extorting  recognition  even  from 
the  envious;  and  when  the  young  and  healthy  saw  that  she 
could  smile  brightly,  converse  gayly,  move  with  vivacity  and 
alertness,  they  acknowledged  in  her  a  sisterhood  of  youth  and 
health,  and  tolerated  her  as  of  their  kind  accordingly. 

To  speak  truth,  1  watched  this  change  much  as  a  gardener 
•watches  the  growth  of  a  precious  plant,  and  I  contributed  to  it 
too,  even  as  the  said  gardener  contributes  to  the  development  of 
his  favorite.  To  me  it  was  not  difficult  to  discover  how  I  could 
best  foster  my  pupil,  cherish  her  starved  feelings,  and  induce 
the  outward  manifestation  of  that  inward  vigor  which  sunless 
drought  and  blighting  blast  had  hitherto  forbidden  to  expand. 
Constancy  of  attention — a  kindness  as  mute  as  watchful,  always 
standing  by  her,  cloaked  in  the  rough  garb  of  austerity,  and 
making  its  real  nature  known  only  by  a  rare  glance  of  interest, 
or  a  cordial  and  gentle  word ;  real  respect  masked  with  seeming 
imperiousness,  directing,  urging  her  actions,  yet  helping  her 
too,  and  that  with  devoted  care, — these  were  the  means  I  used, 
for  these  means  best  suited  Frances'  feelings,  as  susceptible  as 
deep  vibrating — her  nature  at  once  proud  and  shy. 

The  benefits  of  my  system  became  apparent,  also,  in  her 
altered  demeanor  as  a  teacher ;  she  now  took  her  place  amongst 
her  pupils  with  an  air  of  spirit  and  firmness  which  assured 
them  at  once  that  she  meant  to  be  obeyed — and  obeyed  she  was. 
They  felt  they  had  lost  their  power  over  her.  If  any  girl  had 
rebelled,  she  would  no  longer  have  taken  her  rebellion  to  heart ; 
she  possessed  a  source  of  comfort  they  could  not  drain,  a  pillar 
of  support  they  could  not  overthrow.  Formerly,  when  insulted, 
she  wept ;  now,  she  smiled. 

The  public  reading  of  one  of  her  devoirs  achieved  the  revela- 
tion of  her  talents  to  all  and  sundry.  I  remember  the  subject : 
it  was  an  emigrant's  letter  to  his  friends  at  home.  It  opened 
with  simplicity;  some  natural  and  graphic  touches  disclosed 
to  the  reader  the  scene  of  virgin  forest  and  great  New- World 
river — barren  of  sail  and  flag — amidst  which  the  epistle  was 
supposed  to  be  indited.  The  difficulties  and  dangers  that 
attend  a  settler's  life  were  hinted  at ;  and  in  the  few  words  said 
on  that  subject,  Mdlle.  Henri  failed  not  to  render  audible  the 
voice  of  resolve,  patience,  endeavor.  The  disasters  which  had 


THE  PROFESSOR.  135 

driven  him  from  his  native  country  were  alluded  to  ;  stainless 
honor,  inflexible  independence,  indestructible  self-respect,  there 
took  the  word.  Past  days  were  spoken  of;  the  grief  of  parting, 
the  regrets  of  absence,  were  touched  upon ;  feeling,  forcible  and 
fine,  breathed  eloquent  in  every  period.  At  the  close,  consola- 
tion was  suggested ;  religious  faith  became  there  the  speaker, 
and  she  spoke  well. 

The  devoir  was  powerfully  written,  in  language  at  once 
chaste  and  choice,  in  a  style  nerved  with  vigor  and  graced 
with  harmony. 

Mdlle.  Reuter  was  quite  sufficiently  acquainted  with  English 
to  understand  it  when  read  or  spoken  in  her  presence,  though 
she  could  neither  speak  nor  write  it  herself.  During  the  peru- 
sal of  this  devoir  she  sat  placidly  busy,  her  eyes  and  fingers 
occupied  with  the  formation  of  a  "  riviere,"  or  open-work  hem 
round  a  cambric  handkerchief;  she  said  nothing,  and  her  face 
and  forehead,  clothed  with  a  mask  of  purely  negative  expres- 
sion, were  as  blank  of  comment  as  her  lips.  As  neither  surprise, 
pleasure,  approbation,  nor  interest  were  evinced  in  her  counte- 
nance, so  no  more  were  disdain,  envy,  annoyance,  weariness ;  if 
that  inscrutable  mien  said  anything,  it  was  simply  this — "  The 
matter  is  trite  to  excite  an  emotion,  or  call  forth  an  opinion." 

As  soon  as  I  had  done,  a  hum  rose ;  several  of  the  pupils, 
pressing  round  Mdlle.  Henri,  began  to  beset  her  with  compli- 
ments ;  the  composed  voiee  of  the  directress  was  now  heard : — 
"  Young  ladies,  such  of  you  as  have  cloaks  and  umbrellas  will 
hasten  to  return  home  before  the  shower  becomes  heavier  "  (it 
was  raining  a  little),  "  the  remainder  will  wait  till  their  respec- 
tive servants  arrive  to  fetch  them."  And  the  school  dispersed, 
for  it  was  four  o'clock. 

"Monsieur,  a  word,"  said  Mdlle.  Reuter,  stepping  on  the 
estrade,  and  signifying,  by  a  movement  of  the  hand,  that  she 
wished  me  to  relinquish  for  an  instant  the  castor  I  had 
clutched. 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  am  at  your  service." 

"  Monsieur,  it  is  of  course  an  excellent  plan  to  encourage 
effort  in  young  people  by  making  conspicuous  the  progress  of 
any  particularly  industrious  pupil ;  but  do  you  not  think  that  in 
the  present  instance,  Mdlle.  Henri  can  hardly  be  considered  as 


136  THE  PROFESSOR. 

a  concurrent  with  the  other  pupils  ?  She  is  older  than  most  of 
them,  and  has  had  advantages  of  an  exclusive  nature  for 
acquiring  a  knowledge  of  English  ;  on  the  other  hand,  her 
sphere  of  life  is  somewhat  beneath  theirs ;  under  these  circum- 
stances, a  public  distinction,  conferred  upon  Mdlle.  Henri,  may 
be  the  means  of  suggesting  comparisons,  and  exciting  feelings 
such  as  would  be  far  from  advantageous  to  the  individual  form- 
ing their  object.  The  interest  I  take  in  Mdlle.  Henri's  real 
welfare  makes  me  desirous  of  screening  her  from  annoyances 
of  this  sort ;  besides,  Monsieur,  as  I  have  before  hinted  to  you, 
the  sentiment  of  amour  propre  has  a  somewhat  marked  prepon- 
derance in  her  character ;  celebrity  has  a  tendency  to  foster  this 
sentiment,  and  in  her  it  should  be  rather  repressed — she  rather 
needs  keeping  down  than  bringing  forward  ;  and  then  I  think, 
Monsieur — it  appears  to  me  that  ambition,  literary  ambition 
especially,  is  not  a  feeling  to  be  cherished  in  the  mind  of  a 
woman :  would  not  Mdlle.  Henri  be  much  safer  and  happier  if 
taught  to  believe  that  in  the  quiet  discharge  of  social  duties 
consists  her  real  vocation,  than  if  stimulated  to  aspire  after 
applause  and  publicity  ?  She  may  never  marry  ;  scanty  as  are 
her  resources,  obscure  as  are  her  connections,  uncertain  as  is 
her  health  (for  I  think  her  consumptive,  her  mother  died  of 
that  complaint),  it  is  more  than  probable  she  never  will :  I  do 
not  see  how  she  can  rise  to  a  position  whence  such  a  step  would 
be  possible  ;  but  even  in  celibacy  it  would  be  better  for  her  to 
retain  the  character  and  habits  of  a  respectable  decorous  female." 

"Indisputably,  Mademoiselle,"  was  my  answer.  "Your 
opinion  admits  of  no  doubt ;"  and  fearful  of  the  harangue 
being  renewed,  I  retreated  under  cover  of  that  cordial  sentence 
of  assent. 

At  the  date  of  a  fortnight  after  the  little  incident  noted 
above,  I  find  it  recorded  in  my  diary  that  a  hiatus  occurred  in 
Mdlle.  Henri's  usually  regular  attendance  in  class.  The  first 
day  or  two  I  wondered  at  her  absence,  but  did  not  like  to  ask 
an  explanation  of  it ;  I  thought  indeed  some  chance  word  might 
be  dropped  which  would  afford  me  the  information  I  wished  to 
obtain,  without  my  running  the  risk  of  exciting  silly  smiles  and 
gossiping  whispers  by  demanding  it.  But  when  a  week  passed 
and  the  seat  at  the  desk  near  the  door  still  remained  vacant, 


THE  PROFESSOR.  137 

and  when  no  allusion  was  made  to  the  circumstance  by  any 
individual  of  the  class — when,  on  the  contrary,  I  found  that  all 
observed  a  marked  silence  on  the  point — I  determined  codte  qui 
cotite,  to  break  the  ice  of  this  silly  reserve.  I  selected  Sylvie  as 
my  informant,  because  from  her  I  knew  that  I  should  at  least 
get  a  sensible  answer,  unaccompanied  by  wriggle,  titter,  or  other 
flourish  of  folly. 

"  Ou  done  est  Mdlle.  Henri  ?"  I  said  one  day,  as  I  returned  an 
exercise-book  I  had  been  examining. 

"  Elle  est  partie,  Monsieur." 

"Partie!  et  pour  combien  de  temps?  Quand  reviendra- 
t-elle?" 

"  Elle  est  partie  pour  toujours,  Monsieur ;  elle  ne  reviendra 
plus." 

"  Ah !"  was  my  involuntary  exclamation ;  then  after  a  pause : 
"  En  etes-vous  bien  sure,  Sylvie  ?" 

"  Oui,  oui,  Monsieur,  Mademoiselle  la  directrice  nous  1'a  dit 
elle-meme  il  y  a  deux  ou  trois  jours." 

And  I  could  pursue  my  inquiries  no  further ;  time,  place,  and 
circumstances  forbade  my  adding  another  word.  I  could  neither 
comment  on  what  had  been  said  nor  demand  further  particu- 
lars. A  question  as  to  the  reason  of  the  teacher's  departure,  as 
to  whether  it  had  been  voluntary  or  otherwise,  was  indeed  on 
my  lips,  but  I  suppressed  it — there  were  listeners  all  round. 
An  hour  after,  in  passing  Sylvie  in  the  corridor  as  she  was  put- 
ting on  her  bonnet,  I  stopped  short  and  asked  :  "  Sylvie,  do  you 
know  Mdlle.  Henri's  address  ?  I  have  some  books  of  hers," 
I  added  carelessly,  "  and  I  should  wish  to  send  them  to  her." 

"  No,  Monsieur,"  replied  Sylvie  ;  "  but  perhaps  Rosalie,  the 
portress,  will  be  able  to  give  it  you." 

Rosalie's  cabinet  was  just  at  hand;  I  stepped  in  and  repeated 
the  inquiry.  Rosalie — a  smart  French  grisette — looked  up  from 
her  work  with  a  knowing  smile,  precisely  the  sort  of  smile  I  was' 
anxious  to  avoid  exciting.  Her  answer  was  prepared ;  she  knew 
nothing  whatever  of  Mdlle.  Henri's  address — had  never  known 
it.  Turning  from  her  with  impatience — for  I  believed  she  He'd 
and  was  hired  to  lie — I  almost  knocked  down  some  one  who  had 
been  standing  at  my  back ;  it  was  the  directress.  My  abrupt 
movement  made  her  recoil  two  or  three  steps.  I  was  obliged  to 


138  THE  PROFESSOR. 

apologize,  which  I  did  more  concisely  than  politely.  No  man  likes 
to  be  dogged,  and  in  the  irritable  mood  in  which  I  then  was, 
the  sight  of  Mdlle.  Reuter  thoroughly  incensed  me.  At  the 
moment  I  turned  her  countenance  looked  hard,  dark,  and  in- 
quisitive ;  her  eyes  were  bent  upon  me  with  an  expression  of 
almost  hungry  curiosity.  I  had  scarcely  caught  this  phase  of 
physiognomy  ere  it  had  vanished  ;  a  bland  smile  played  on  her 
features ;  my  harsh  apology  was  received  with  good-humored 
facility. 

"  Oh,  don't  mention  it,  Monsieur ;  you  only  touched  my  hair 
with  your  elbow;  it  is  no  worse,  only  a  little  dishevelled." 
She  shook  it  back,  and  passing  her  fingers  through  her  curls, 
loosened  them  into  more  numerous  and  flowing  ringlets.  Then 
she  went  on  with  vivacity :  "  Rosalie,  I  was  coming  to  tell 
you  to  go  instantly  and  close  the  windows  of  the  salon  ;  the  wind 
is  rising,  and  the  muslin  curtains  will  be  covered  with  dust." 

Rosalie  departed.  "  Now,"  thought  I,  "  this  will  not  do ; 
Mdlle.  Reuter  thinks  her  meanness  in  eavesdropping  is  screened 
by  her  art  in  devising  a  pretext,  whereas  the  muslin  curtains 
she  speaks  of  are  not  more  transparent  than  this  same  pretext." 
An  impulse  came  over  me  to  thrust  the  flimsy  screen  aside,  and 
confront  her  craft  boldly  with  a  word  or  two  of  plain  truth. 
"  The  rough-shod  foot  treads  most  firmly  on  slippery  ground," 
thought  I ;  so  I  began  :  "  Mdlle.  Henri  has  left  your  establish- 
ment— been  dismissed,  I  presume  ?" 

"Ah,  I  wished  to  have  a  little  conversation  with  you,  Mon- 
sieur," replied  the  directress,  with  the  most  natural  and  affable 
air  in  the  world ;  "  but  we  cannot  talk  quietly  here ;  will 
Monsieur  step  into  the  garden  a  minute  ?"  And  she  preceded 
me,  stepping  out  through  the  glass  door  I  have  before  men- 
tioned. 

"  There,"  said  she,  when  we  had  reached  the  centre  of  the 
middle  alley,  and  when  the  foliage  of  shrubs  and  trees,  now  in 
their  summer  pride,  closing  behind  and  around  us,  shut  out  the 
view  of  the  house,  and  thus  imparted  a  sense  of  seclusion  even 
to  this  little  plot  of  ground  in  the  very  core  of  a  capital. 
"  There,  one  feels  quiet  and  free  when  there  are  only  pear- 
trees  and  rose-bushes  about  one ;  I  daresay  you,  like  me,  Mon- 
sieur, are  sometimes  tired  of  being  eternally  in  the  midst  of 


THE  PROFESSOR.  139 

life;  of  having  human  faces  always  round  you,  human  eyes 
always  upon  you,  human  voices  always  in  your  ear.  I  am  sure 
I  often  wish  intensely  for  liberty  to  spend  a  whole  month  in  the 
country  at  some  little  farm-house,  bien  gentille,  bien  propre, 
tout  entouree  de  champs  et  de  bois ;  quelle  vie  charmante  que 
la  vie  champetre !  N'est-ce  pas,  Monsieur  ?" 

"  Cela  depend,  Mademoiselle." 

"  Que  le  vent  est  bon  et  frais !"  continued  the  directress ;  and 
she  was  right  there,  for  it  was  a  south  wind,  soft  and  sweet.  I 
carried  my  hat  in  my  hand,  and  this  gentle  breeze,  passing 
through  my  hair,  soothed  my  temples  like  balm.  Its  refreshing 
effect,  however,  penetrated  no  deeper  than  the  mere  surface  of 
the  frame ;  for  as  I  walked  by  the  side  of  Mdlle.  Reuter,  my 
heart  was  still  hot  within  me,  and  while  I  was  musing,  the  fire 
burned ;  then  spake  I  with  my  tongue :  "  I  understand  Mdlle. 
Henri  is  gone  from  hence,  and  will  not  return  ?" 

"  Ah,  true !  I  meant  to  have  named  the  subject  to  you  some 
days  ago,  but  my  time  is  so  completely  taken  up,  I  cannot  do 
half  the  things  I  wish :  have  you  never  experienced  what  it  is, 
Monsieur,  to  find  the  day  too  short  by  twelve  hours  for  your 
numerous  duties?" 

"  Not  often.  Mdlle.  Henri's  departure  was  not  voluntary,  I 
presume  ?  If  it  had  been,  she  would  certainly  have  given  me 
some  intimation  of  it,  being  my  pupil." 

"  Oh,  did  she  not  tell  you  ? — that  was  strange;  for  my  part,  I 
never  thought  of  adverting  to  the  subject ;  when  one  has  so 
many  things  to  attend  to,  one  is  apt  to  forget  little  incidents 
that  are  not  of  primary  importance." 

"  You  consider  Mdlle.  Henri's  dismission,  then,  as  a  very  in- 
significant event  ?" 

"  Dismission  ?  Ah  !  she  was  not  dismissed ;  I  can  say  with 
truth,  Monsieur,  that  since  I  became  the  head  of  this  establish- 
ment no  master  or  teacher  has  ever  been  dismissed  from  it." 

"  Yet  some  have  left  it,  Mademoiselle  ?" 

"  Many  ;  I  have  found  it  necessary  to  change  frequently — a 
change  of  instructors  is  often  beneficial  to  the  interests  of  a 
school ;  it  gives  life  and  variety  to  the  proceedings ;  it  amuses 
the  pupils,  and  suggests  to  the  parents  the  idea  of  exertion  and 
progress." 


140  THE  PROFESSOR. 

"  Yet  when  you  are  tired  of  a  professor  or  maitresse,  you 
scruple  to  dismiss  them  ?" 

"No  need  to  have  recourse  to  such  extreme  measures,  I 
assure  you.  Allons,  Monsieur  le  professeur — asseyons-nous ; 
je  vais  vous  donner  une  petite  leeon  dans  votre  e"tat  d'insti- 
tuteur."  (I  wish  I  might  Avrite  all  she  said  to  me  in  French — 
it  loses  sadly  by  being  translated  into  English.)  We  had  now 
reached  the  garden-chair ;  the  directress  sat  down,  and  signed  to 
me  to  sit  by  her,  but  I  only  rested  my  knee  on  the  seat,  and 
stood  leaning  my  head  and  arm  against  the  embowering  branch 
of  a  huge  laburnum,  whose  golden  flowers,  blent  with  the  dusky 
green  leaves  of  a  lilac-bush,  formed  a  mixed  arch  of  shade  and 
sunshine  over  the  retreat.  Mdlle.  Reuter  sat  silent  a  moment ; 
some  novel  movements  were  evidently  working  in  her  mind, 
and  they  showed  their  nature  on  her  astute  brow ;  she  was  med- 
itating some  chef-d'oeuvre  of  policy.  Convinced  by  several 
months'  experience  that  the  affectation  of  virtues  she  did  not 
possess  was  unavailing  to  ensnare  me — aware  that  I  had  read 
her  real  nature,  and  would  believe  nothing  of  the  character  she 
gave  out  as  being  hers — she  had  determined,  at  last,  to  try  a 
new  key,  and  see  if  the  lock  of  my  heart  would  yield  to  that ; 
a  little  audacity,  a  word  of  truth,  a  glimpse  of  the  real.  "  Yes, 
I  will  try,"  was  her  inward  resolve ;  and  then  her  blue  eye  glit- 
tered upon  me — it  did  not  flash — nothing  of  flame  ever  kindled 
in  its  temperate  gleam. 

"  Monsieur  fears  to  sit  by  me  ?"  she  inquired,  playfully. 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  usurp  Pelet's  place,"  I  answered,  for  I 
had  got  the  habit  of  speaking  to  her  bluntly — a  habit  begun 
in  anger,  but  continued  because  I  saw  that,  instead  of  offending, 
it  fascinated  her.  She  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  drooped  her 
eyelids ;  she  sighed  uneasily ;  she  turned  with  an  anxious  gesture, 
as  if  she  would  give  me  the  idea  of  a  bird  that  flutters  in  its 
cage,  and  would  fain  fly  from  its  jail  and  jailer,  and  seek  its 
natural  mate  and  pleasant  nest. 

"  Well — and  your  lesson  ?"  I  demanded  briefly. 

"  Ah !"  she  exclaimed,  recovering  herself,  "  you  are  so  young, 
so  frank  and  fearless,  so  talented,  so  impatient  of  imbecility,  so 
disdainful  of  vulgarity,  you  need  a  lesson ;  here  it  is  then  : 
far  more  is  to  be  done  in  this  world  by  dexterity  than  by 


THE  PROFESSOR.  141 

strength ;  but  perhaps  you  knew  that  before,  for  there  is 
delicacy  as  well  as  power  in  your  character — policy,  as  well  as 
pride  ?" 

"  Go  on,"  said  I ;  and  I  could  hardly  help  smiling,  the 
flattery  was  so  piquant,  so  finely  seasoned.  She  caught  the 
prohibited  smile,  though  I  passed  my  hand  over  my  mouth  to 
conceal  it ;  and  again  she  made  room  for  me  to  sit  beside  her. 
I  shook  my  head,  though  temptation  penetrated  to  my  senses  at 
the  moment,  and  once  more  I  told  her  to  go  on. 

"  Well,  then,  if  ever  you  are  at  the  head  of  a  large  establish- 
ment, dismiss  nobody.  To  speak  truth,  Monsieur  (and  to  you 
I  will  speak  truth),  I  despise  people  who  are  always  making 
rows,  blustering,  sending  off  one  to  the  right,  and  another  to  the 
left,  urging  and  hurrying  circumstances.  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
like  best  to  do,  Monsieur,  shall  I  ?"  She  looked  up  again  ;  she 
had  compounded  her  glance  well  this  time — much  archness, 
more  deference,  a  spicy  dash  of  coquetry,  an  unveiled  conscious- 
ness of  capacity.  I  nodded ;  she  treated  me  like  the  great 
Mogul ;  so  I  became  the  great  Mogul  as  far  as  she  was  con- 
cerned. 

"  I  like,  Monsieur,  to  take  my  knitting  in  my  hands,  and  to 
sit  quietly  down  in  my  chair ;  circumstances  defile  past  me ;  I 
watch  their  march  ;  so  long  as  they  follow  the  course  I  wish,  I 
say  nothing,  and  do  nothing ;  I  don't  clap  my  hands,  and  cry 
out  '  Bravo  !  How  lucky  I  am !'  to  attract  the  attention  and 
envy  of  my  neighbors — I  am  merely  passive ;  but  when  events 
fall  out  ill — when  circumstances  become  adverse — I  watch  very 
vigilantly ;  I  knit  on  still,  and  still  I  hold  my  tongue ;  but 
every  now  and  then,  Monsieur,  I  just  put  my  toe  out — so — and 
give  the  rebellious  circumstance  a  little  secret  push,  without 
noise,  which  sends  it  the  way  I  wish,  and  I  am  successful  after 
all,  and  nobody  has  seen  my  expedient.  So,  when  teachers  or 
masters  become  troublesome  and  inefficient — when,  in  short,  the 
interests  of  the  school  would  suffer  from  their  retaining  their 
places — I  mind  my  knitting,  events  progress,  circumstances 
glide  past ;  I  see  one  which,  if  pushed  ever  so  little  awry,  will 
render  untenable  the  post  I  wish  to  have  vacated — the  deed  is 
done — the  stumbling-block  removed — and  no  one  saw  me  ;  I 
have  not  made  an  enemy,  I  am  rid  of  an  encumbrance." 


142  THE  PROFESSOR. 

A  moment  since,  and  I  thought  her  alluring;  this  speech 
concluded,  I  looked  on  her  with  distaste. 

"  Just  like  you,"  was  my  cold  answer.  "  And  in  this  way 
you  have  ousted  Mdlle.  Henri?  You  wanted  her  office,  there- 
fore you  rendered  it  intolerable  to  her  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,  Monsieur,  I  was  merely  anxious  about  Mdlle. 
Henri's  health  ;  no,  your  moral  sight  is  clear  and  piercing,  but 
there  you  have  failed  to  discover  the  truth.  I  took — I  have 
always  taken  a  real  interest  in  Mdlle.  Henri's  welfare ;  I  did 
not  like  her  going  out  in  all  weathers ;  I  thought  it  would  be 
more  advantageous  for  her  to  obtain  a  permanent  situation, 
besides,  I  considered  her  now  qualified  to  do  something  more  than 
teach  sewing.  I  reasoned  with  her ;  left  the  decision  to  herself; 
she  saw  the  correctness  of  my  views  and  adopted  them." 

"  Excellent !  and  now,  Mademoiselle,  you  will  have  the  good- 
ness to  give  me  her  address." 

"Her  address!" — and  a  sombre  and  stony  change  came  over 
the  mien  of  the  directress.  "  Her  address  ?  Ah ! — well — I  wish 
I  could  oblige  you,  Monsieur,  but  I  cannot,  and  I  will  tell  you 
why ;  whenever  I  myself  asked  her  for  her  address,  she  always 
evaded  the  inquiry.  I  thought — I  may  be  wrong — but  I 
thought  her  motive  for  doing  so,  was  a  natural  though  mistaken 
reluctance  to  introduce  to  me  some  probably  very  poor  abode ; 
her  means  were  narrow,  her  origin  obscure ;  she  lives  some- 
where, doubtless,  in  the  '  Basse  Ville.' " 

"  I'll  not  lose  sight  of  my  best  pupil  yet,"  said  I,  "though  she 
were  born  of  beggars  and  lodged  in  a  cellar ;  for  the  rest,  it  is 
absurd  to  make  a  bugbear  of  her  origin  to  me — I  happen  to 
know  that  she  was  a  Swiss  pastor's  daughter,  neither  more  nor 
less ;  and  as  to  her  narrow  means,  I  care  nothing  for  the 
poverty  of  her  purse  so  long  as  her  heart  overflows  with 
affluence." 

"Your  sentiments  are  perfectly  noble,  Monsieur,"  said  the 
directress,  affecting  to  suppress  a  yawn :  her  sprightliness  was 
now  extinct,  her  temporary  candor  shut  up ;  the  little,  red- 
colored,  piratical-looking  pennon  of  audacity  she  had  allowed 
to  float  a  minute  in  the  air,  was  furled,  and  the  broad  sober- 
hued  flag  of  dissimulation  again  hung  low  over  the  citadel.  I 
did  not  like  her  thus,  so  I  cut  short  the  tete-h-tete  and  departed. 


THE  riiOFESSOR.  143 


,     CHAPTER    XIX. 

"VTOVELISTS  should  never  allow  themselves  to  weary  of 
_1_  i  the  study  of  real  life.  If  they  observed  this  duty  con- 
scientiously, they  would  give  us  fewer  pictures  chequered  with 
vivid  contrasts  of  light  and  shade ;  they  would  seldom  elevate 
their  heroes  and  heroines  to  the  heights  of  rapture — still  more 
seldom  sink  them  to  the  depths  of  despair ;  for  if  we  rarely 
taste  the  fullness  of  joy  in  this  life,  we  yet  more  rarely  savor  the 
acrid  bitterness  of  hopeless  anguish;  unless,  indeed,  we  have 
plunged  like  beasts  into  sensual  indulgence,  abused,  strained, 
stimulated,  again  overstrained,  and,  at  last,  destroyed  our 
faculties  for  enjoyment;  then,  truly,  we  may  find  ourselves 
without  support,  robbed  of  hope.  Our  agony  is  great,  and  how 
can  it  end  ?  We  have  broken  the  spring  of  our  powers ;  life 
must  be  all  suffering — too  feeble  to  conceive  faith — death  must 
be  darkness — God,  spirits,  religion,  can  have  no  place  in  our 
collapsed  minds,  where  linger  only  hideous  and  polluting  re- 
collections of  vice :  and  time  brings  us  on  to  the  brink  of  the 
grave,  and  dissolution  flings  us  in — a  rag  eaten  through  and 
through  with  disease,  wrung  together  with  pain,  stamped  into 
the  churchyard  sod  by  the  inexorable  heel  of  despair. 

But  the  man  of  regular  life  and  rational  mind  never  despairs. 
He  loses  his  property — it  is  a  blow — he  staggers  a  moment ;  then, 
his  energies,  roused  by  the  smart,  are  at  work  to  seek  a  remedy  ; 
activity  soon  mitigates  regret.  Sickness  affects  him :  he  takes 
patience — endures  what  he  cannot  cure.  Acute  pain  racks  him ; 
his  writhing  limbs  know  not  where  to  find  rest;  he  leans  on 
Hope's  anchors.  Death  takes  from  him  what  he  loves ;  roots 
up,  and  tears  violently  away  the  stem  round  which  his  affections 
were  twined — a  dark,  dismal  time,  a  frightful  wrench — but  some 
morning  Religion  looks  into  his  desolate  house  with  sunrise,  and 
says  that  in  another  world,  another  life,  he  shall  meet  his  kin- 
dred again.  She  speaks  of  that  world  as  a  place  unsullied  by 
sin — of  that  life,  as  an  era  unembittered  by  suffering;  she 
mightily  strengthens  her  consolation  by  connecting  with  it  two 


144  THE  PROFESSOR. 

ideas — which  mortals  cannot  comprehend,  but  on  which  they 
love  to  repose — Eternity,  Immortality;  and  the  mind  of  the 
mourner,  being  filled  with  an  image,  faint  yet  glorious,  of 
heavenly  hills  all  light  and  peace — of  a  spirit  resting  there  in 
bliss — of  a  day  when  his  spirit  shall  also  alight  there,  free  and 
disembodied — of  a  reunion  perfected  by  love,  purified  from 
fear — he  takes  courage — goes  out  to  encounter  the  necessities 
and  discharge  the  duties  of  life;  and  though  sadness  may 
never  lift  her  burden  from  his  mind,  Hope  will  enable  him  to 
support  it. 

Well — and  what  suggested  all  this  ?  and  what  is  the  inference 
to  be  drawn  therefrom  ?  What  suggested  it,  is  the  circumstance 
of  my  best  pupil — my  treasure — being  snatched  from  my  hands, 
and  put  away  out  of  my  reach ;  the  inference  to  be  drawn  from 
it  is — that,  being  a  steady,  reasonable  man,  I  did  not  allow  the 
resentment,  disappointment,  and  grief,  engendered  in  my  mind 
by  this  evil  chance,  to  grow  there  to  any  monstrous  size ;  nor 
did  I  allow  them  to  monopolize  the  whole  space  of  my  heart ; 
I  pent  them,  on  the  contrary,  in  one  strait  and  secret  nook.  In 
the  daytime,  too,  when  I  was -about  my  duties,  I  put  them  on 
the  silent  system ;  and  it  was  only  after  I  had  closed  the  door 
of  my  chamber  at  night  that  I  somewhat  relaxed  my  severity 
towards  these  morose  nurslings,  and  allowed  vent  to  their  lan- 
guage of  murmurs ;  then,  in  revenge,  they  sat  on  my  pillow, 
haunted  my  bed,  and  kept  me  awake  with  their  long  midnight 
cry. 

A  week  passed.  I  had  said  nothing  more  to  Mdlle.  Eeuter. 
I  had  been  calm  in  my  demeanor  to  her,  though  stony  cold  and 
hard.  When  I  looked  at  her,  it  was  with  the  glance  fitting  to 
be  bestowed  on  one  who  I  knew  had  consulted  jealously  as  an 
adviser,  and  employed  treachery  as  an  instrument — the  glance 
of  quiet  disdain  and  rooted  distrust.  On  Saturday  evening,  ere 
I  left  the  house,  I  stepped  into  the  salle-a-manger,  where  she 
was  sitting  alone,  and,  placing  myself  before  her,  I  asked,  with 
the  same  tranquil  tone  and  manner  that  I  should  have  used  had 
I  put  the  question  for  the  first  time — "  Mademoiselle,  will  you 
have  the  goodness  to  give  me  the  address  of  Frances  Evans 
Henri?" 

A  little  surprised,  but  not  disconcerted,  she  smilingly  dis- 


THE  PROFESSOR.  145 

claimed  any  knowledge  of  that  address,  adding,  "  Monsieur  has 
perhaps  forgotten  that  I  explained  all  about  that  circumstance 
before — a  week  ago  ?" 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  continued,  "  you  would  greatly  oblige  me 
by  directing  me  to  that  young  person's  abode." 

She  seemed  somewhat  puzzled ;  and,  at  last,  looking  up  with 
an  admirably  counterfeited  air  of  naivete,  she  demanded,  "  Does 
Monsieur  think  I  am  telling  an  untruth  ?" 

Still  avoiding  to  give  her  a  direct  answer,  I  said,  "  It  is  not, 
then,  your  intention,  Mademoiselle,  to  oblige  me  in  this  par- 
ticular ?" 

"  But,  Monsieur,  how  can  I  tell  you  what  I  do  not  know  ?" 

"  Very  well ;  I  understand  you  perfectly,  Mademoiselle ;  and 
now  I  have  only  two  or  three  words  to  say.  This  is  the  last 
week  in  July ;  in  another  month  the  vacation  will  commence ; 
have  the  goodness  to  avail  yourself  of  the  leisure  it  will  afford 
you  to  look  out  for  another  English  master — at  the  close  of 
August,  I  shall  be  under  the  necessity  of  resigning  my  post  in 
•your  establishment." 

I  did  not  wait  for  her  comments  on  this  announcement,  but 
bowed  and  immediately  withdrew. 

,  That  same  evening,  soon  after  dinner,  a  servant  brought  me 
a  small  packet ;  it  was  directed  in  a  hand  I  knew,  but  had  not 
hoped  so  soon  to  see  again ;  being  in  my  own  apartment  and 
alone,  there  was  nothing  to  prevent  my  immediately  opening  it ; 
it  contained  four  five-franc  pieces,  and  a  note  in  English. 

"  MOXSIEUR, — 

"  I  came  to  Mdlle.  Reuter's  house  yesterday,  at  the  time 
when  I  knew  you  would  be  just  about  finishing  your  lesson,  and 
I  asked  if  I  might  go  into  the  schoolroom  and  speak  to  you. 
Mdlle.  Renter  came  out  and  said  you  were  already  gone ;  it  had 
not  yet  struck  four,  so  I  thought  she  must  be  mistaken,  but  con- 
cluded it  would  be  vain  to  call  another  day  on  the  same  errand. 
In  one  sense  a  note  will  do  as  well — it  will  wrap  up  the  twenty 
francs,  the  price  of  the  lessons  I  have  received  from  you  ;  and 
if  it  will  not  fully  express  the  thanks  I  owe  you  in  addition — 
if  it  will  not  bid  you  good-bye  as  I  could  wish  to  have  done — 
if  it  will  not  tell  you,  as  I  long  to  do,  how  sorry  I  am  that  I 

10 


146  THE  PROFESSOR. 

shall  probably  never  see  you  more — why,  spoken  words  would 
hardly  be  more  adequate  to  the  task.  Had  I  seen  you,  I  should 
probably  have  stammered  out  something  feeble  and  unsatisfac- 
tory— something  belying  my  feelings  rather  than  explaining 
them  ;  so  it  is  perhaps  as  well  that  I  was  denied  admission  to 
your  presence.  You  often  remarked,  Monsieur,  that  my  devoirs 
dwelt  a  great  deal  on  fortitude  in  bearing  grief — you  said  I 
introduced  that  theme  too  often.  I  find  indeed  that  it  is  much 
easier  to  write  about  a  severe  duty  than  to  perform  it,  for  I  am 
oppressed  when  I  see  and  feel  to  what  a  reverse  fate  has  con- 
demned me  ;  you  were  kind  to  me,  Monsieur — very  kind ;  I  am 
afflicted — I  am  heart-broken  to  be  quite  separated  from  you ; 
soon  I  shall  have  no  friend  on  earth.  But  it  is  useless  troubling 
you  with  my  distresses.  What  claim  have  I  on  your  sympathy? 
None ;  I  will  then  say  no  more. 

"  Farewell,  Monsieur. 

"F.  E.  HENRI." 

I  put  up  the  note  in  my  pocket-book.  I  slipped  the  five-franc 
pieces  into  my  purse — then  I  took  a  turn  through  my  narrow 
chamber. 

"  Mdlle.  Keuter  talked  about  her  poverty,"  said  I,  "  and  she 
is  poor ;  yet  she  pays  her  debts  and  more.  I  have  not  yet 
given  her  a  quarter's  lessons,  and  she  has  sent  me  a  quarter's 
dues.  I  wonder  of  what  she  deprived  herself  to  scrape  together 
the  twenty  francs — I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  place  she  has  to 
live  in,  and  what  sort  of  a  woman  her  aunt  is,  and  whether  she 
is  likely  to  get  employment  to  supply  the  place  she  has  lost. 
No  doubt  she  will  have  to  trudge  about  long  enough  from  school 
to  school,  to  inquire  here,  and  apply  there — be  rejected  in  this 
place,  disappointed  in  that.  Many  an  evening  she'll  go  to  her 
bed  tired  and  unsuccessful.  And  the  directress  would  not  let 
her  in  to  bid  me  good-bye?  I  might  not  have  the  chance  of 
standing  with  her  for  a  few  minutes  at  a  window  in  the  school- 
room and  exchanging  some  half-dozen  of  sentences — getting  to 
know  where  she  lived — putting  matters  in  train  for  having  all 
things  arranged  to  my  mind  ?  No  address  on  the  note " — I 
continued,  drawing  it  again  from  my  pocket-book  and  examin- 
ing it  on  each  side  of  the  two  leaves :  "  women  are  women,  that 


THE  PROFESSOR.  147 

is  certain,  and  always  do  business  like  women ;  men  mechanic- 
ally put  a  date  and  address  to  their  communications.  And  these 
five-franc  pieces  ?" — (I  hauled  them  forth  from  my  purse) — 
"  if  she  had  offered  me  them  herself  instead  of  tying  them  up 
with  a  thread  of  green  silk  in  a  kind  of  Lilliputian  packet,  I 
could  have  thrust  them  back  into  her  little  hand,  and  shut  up 
the  small,  taper  fingers  over  them — so — and  compelled  her 
shame,  her  pride,  her  shyness,  all  to  yield  to  a  little  bit 
of  determined  will.  Now  where  is  she?  How  can  I  get  at 
her?" 

Opening  my  chamber  door,  I  walked  down  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Who  brought  the  packet  ?"  I  asked  of  the  servant  who  had 
delivered  it  to  me. 

"  Un  petit  commissionaire,  Monsieur." 

"  Did  he  say  anything  ?" 

"Kien." 

And  I  wended  my  way  up  the  back-stairs,  wondrously  the 
wiser  for  my  inquiries. 

"  No  matter,"  said  I  to  myself,  as  I  again  closed  the  door. 
"  No  matter — I'll  seek  her  through  Brussels." 

And  I  did.  I  sought  her  day  by  day  whenever  I  had  a  mo- 
ment's leisure,  for  four  weeks  ;  I  sought  her  on  Sundays  all  day 
long ;  I  sought  her  on  the  Boulevards,  in  the  Alle  Verte,  in  the 
Park ;  I  sought  her  in  St.  Gudule  and  St.  Jacques ;  I  sought 
her  in  the  two  Protestant  chapels ;  I  attended  these  latter  at  the 
German,  French,  and  English  services,  not  doubting  that  I 
should  meet  her  at  one  of  them.  All  my  researches  were  abso- 
lutely fruitless ;  my  security  on  the  last  point  was  proved  by 
the  event  to  be  equally  groundless  with  my  other  calculations. 
I  stood  at  the  door  of  each  chapel  after  the  service,  and  waited 
till  every  individual  had  come  out,  scrutinizing  every  gown 
draping  a  slender  form,  peering  under  every  bonnet  covering  a 
young  head.  In  vain.  I  saw  girlish  figures  pass  me,  drawing 
their  black  scarfs  over  their  sloping  shoulders,  but  none  of 
them  had  the  exact  turn  and  air  of  Mdlle.  Henri's ;  I  saw  pale 
and  thoughtful  faces  "  encadrees"  in  bands  of  brown  hair,  but  I 
never  found  her  forehead,  her  eyes,  her  eyebrows.  All  the 
features  of  all  the  faces  I  met  seemed  frittered  away,  because 
my  eye  failed  to  recognize  the  peculiarities  it  was  bent  upon  ; 


148  THE  PROFESSOR. 

an  ample  space,  of  brow,  and  a  large,  dark,  and  serious  eye, 
with  a  fine  but  decided  line  of  eyebrow  traced  above. 

"  She  has  probably  left  Brussels — perhaps  has  gone  to  Eng- 
land, as  she  said  she  would,"  muttered  I  inwardly,  as  on  the 
afternoon  of  the  fourth  Sunday  I  turned  from  the  door  of  the 
chapel-royal,  which  the  doorkeeper  had  just  closed  and  locked, 
and  followed  in  the  wake  of  the  last  of  the  congregation,  now 
dispersed  and  dispersing  over  the  square.  I  had  soon  out- 
walked the  couples  of  English  gentlemen  and  ladies.  (Gracious 
goodness !  why  don't  they  dress  better  ?  My  eye  is  yet  filled  with 
visions  of  the  high-flounced,  slovenly,  and  tumbled  dresses,  in 
costly  silk  and  satin ;  of  the  large  unbecoming  collars  in  ex- 
pensive lace ;  of  the  ill-cut  coats  and  strangely-fashioned  panta- 
loons which  every  Sunday,  at  the  English  service,  filled  the 
choirs  of  the  chapel-royal,  and  after  it,  issuing  forth  into  the 
square,  came  into  disadvantageous  contrast  with  freshly  and 
trimly-attired  foreign  figures,  hastening  to  attend  salut  at  the 
church  of  Coburg.)  I  had  passed  these  pairs  of  Britons,  and 
the  groups  of  pretty  British  children,  and  the  British  footmen 
and  waiting-maids ;  I  had  crossed  the  Place  Royale,  and  got 
into  the  Rue  Royale,  thence  I  had  diverged  into  the  Rue  de 
Louvain,  an  old  and  quiet  street.  I  remember  that,  feeling  a 
little  hungry,  and  not  desiring  to  go  back  and  take  my  share  of 
the  "  gouter,"  now  on  the  refectory -table  at  Pelet's,  to  wit,  pisto- 
lets  and  water,  I  stepped  into  a  baker's  and  refreshed  myself  on 
a  coue  (?) — it  is  a  Flemish  word :  I  don't  know  how  to  spell  it — 
a  Corinthe — Anglicb,  a  currant  bun — and  a  cup  of  coffee ;  and 
then  I  strolled  on  towards  the  Porte  de  Louvain.  Very  soon  I 
was  out  of  the  city,  and  slowly  mounting  the  hill  which  ascends 
from  the  gate.  I  took  my  time,  for  the  afternoon,  though 
cloudy,  was  very  sultry,  and  not  a  breeze  stirred  to  refresh  the 
atmosphere.  No  inhabitant  of  Brussels  need  wander  far  to 
search  for  solitude ;  let  him  but  move  half  a  league  from  his 
own  city,  and  he  will  find  her  brooding  still  and  blank  over  the 
wide  fields,  so  drear  though  so  fertile,  spread  out  treeless  and 
trackless  round  the  capital  of  Brabant.  Having  gained  the 
summit  of  the  hill,  and  having  stood  and  looked  long  over  the 
cultured  but  lifeless  champaign,  I  felt  a  wish  to  quit  the  high 
road  which  I  had  hitherto  followed,  and  get  in  among  those 


s 


THE  PROFESSOR.  149 

tilled  grounds — fertile  as  the  beds  of  a  Brobdignagian  kitchen- 
garden — spreading  far  and  wide  even  to  the  boundaries  of  the 
horizon,  where,  from  a  dusk  green,  distance  changed  them  to  a 
sullen  blue,  and  confused  their  tints  with  those  of  the  livid  and 
thunderous-looking  sky.  Accordingly  I  turned  up  a  bypath  to 
the  right ;  I  had  not  followed  it  far  ere  it  brought  me,  as  I  ex- 
pected, into  the  fields,  amidst  which,  just  before  me,  stretched  a 
long  and  lofty  white  wall,  enclosing,  as  it  seemed  from  the 
foliage  showing  above,  some  thickly-planted  nursery  of  yew  and 
cypress,  for  of  that  species  were  the  branches  resting  on  the  pale 
parapets,  and  crowding  gloomily  about  a  massive  cross,  planted 
doubtless  on  a  central  eminence,  and  extending  its  arms,  which 
seemed  of  black  marble,  over  the  summits  of  those  sinister 
trees.  I  approached,  wondering  to  what  house  this  well-pro- 
tected garden  appertained.  I  turned  the  angle  of  the  wall, 
thinking  to  see  some  stately  residence  ;  I  was  close  upon  great 
iron  gates  ;  there  was  a  hut  serving  for  a  lodge  near,  but  I  had 
no  occasion  to  apply  for  the  key — the  gates  were  open ;  I  pushed 
one  leaf  back  ;  rain  had  rusted  its  hinges,  for  it  groaned  dole- 
fully as  they  revolved.  Thick  planting  embowered  the  entrance. 
Passing  up  the  avenue,  I  saw  objects  on  each  hand  which,  in 
their  own  mute  language  of  inscription  and  sign,  explained 
clearly  to  what  abode  I  had  made  my  way.  This  was  the  house 
appointed  for  all  living.  Crosses,  monuments,  and  garlands  of 
everlastings  announced,  "  The  Protestant  Cemetery,  outside  the 
gate  of  Louvain." 

The  place  was  large  enough  to  afford  half-an-hour's  strolling 
without  the  monotony  of  treading  continually  the  same  path ; 
and  for  those  who  love  to  peruse  the  annals  of  graveyards,  here 
was  variety  enough  of  inscription  to  occupy  the  attention  for 
double  or  treble  that  space  of  time.  Hither  people  of  many 
kindreds,  tongues,  and  nations  had  brought  their  dead  for  inter- 
ment ;  and  here,  on  pages  of  stone,  of  marble,  and  of  brass, 
were  written  names,  dates,  last  tributes  of  pomp  or  love,  in 
English,  in  French,  in  German,  and  Latin.  Here  the  English- 
man had  erected  a  marble  monument  over  the  remains  of  his 
Mary  Smith  or  Jane  Brown,  and  inscribed  it  only  with  her 
name.  There  the  French  widower  had  shaded  the  grave  of  his 
Elmire  or  Celestine  with  a  brilliant  thicket  of  roses,  amidst 


150  THE  PROFESSOR. 

which  a  little  tablet  rising,  bore  an  equally  bright  testimony  to 
her  countless  virtues.  Every  nation,  tribe,  and  kindred, 
mourned  after  its  own  fashion;  and  how  soundless  was  the 
mourning  of  all!  My  own  tread,  though  slow  and  upon 
smooth-rolled  paths,  seemed  to  startle,  because  it  formed  the 
sole  break  to  a  silence  otherwise  total.  Not  only  the  winds, 
but  the  very  fitful,  wandering  airs,  were  that  afternoon,  as  by 
common  consent,  all  fallen  asleep  in  their  various  quarters ; 
kthe  north  was  hushed,  the  south  silent,  the  east  sobbed  not,  nor 
did  the  west  whisper.  The  clouds  in  heaven  were  condensed 
and  dull,  but  apparently  quite  motionless.  Under  the  trees  of 
this  cemetery  nestled  a  warm,  breathless  gloom,  out  of  which 
the  cypress  stood  up  straight  and  mute,  above  which  the  willows 
hung  low  and  still ;  where  the  flowers,  languid  as  fair,  waited  list- 
less for  night  dew  or  thunder-shower ;  where  the  tombs,  and  those 
they  hid,  lay  impassible  to  sun  or  shadow,  or  rain  or  drought. 

Importuned  by  the  sound  of  my  own  footsteps,  I  turned  off 
upon  the  turf,  and  slowly  advanced  to  a  grove  of  yews  ;  I  saw 
something  stir  among  the  stems ;  I  thought  it  might  be  a  broken 
branch  swinging, — my  short-sighted  vision  had  caught  no  form, 
only  a  sense  of  motion ;  but  the  dusky  shade  passed  on, 
appearing  and  disappearing  at  the  openings  in  the  avenue.  I 
soon  discerned  it  was  a  living  and  a  human  thing.  Drawing 
nearer,  I  perceived  it  was  a  woman,  pacing  slowly  to  and  fro, 
and  evidently  deeming  herself  alone,  as  I  had  deemed  myself 
alone,  and  meditating  as  I  had  been  meditating.  Ere  long  she 
returned  to  a  seat  which  I  fancy  she  had  just  quitted,  or  I 
should  have  caught  sight  of  her  before.  It  wsCs  in  a  nook, 
screened  by  a  clump  of  trees ;  there  was  the  white  wall  before 
her,  and  a  little  stone  set  up  against  the  wall,  and  at  the  foot 
of  the  stone  was  an  allotment  of  turf  freshly  turned  up,  a  new- 
made  grave.  I  put  on  my  spectacles,  and  passed  softly  close 
behind  her;  glancing  at  the  inscription  on  the  stone,  I  read, 
"  Julienne  Henri,  died  at  Brussels,  aged  sixty.  August  10th, 
18 — ."  Having  perused  the  inscription,  I  looked  down  at  the 
form  sitting  bent  and  thoughtful  just  under  my  eyes,  uncon- 
scious of  the  vicinity  of  any  living  thing;  it  was  a  slim,  youthful 
figure  in  mourning  apparel  of  the  plainest  black  stuff,  with  a 
little  simple,  black  crape  bonnet ;  I  felt,  as  well  as  saw,  who  it 


THE  PROFESSOR.  151 

was.  Moving  neither  hand  nor  foot,  I  stood  some  moments 
enjoying  the  security  of  conviction.  I  had  sought  her  for  a 
month,  and  had  never  discovered  one  of  her  traces — never  met 
a  hope  or  seized  a  chance  of  encountering  her  anywhere.  I 
had  been  forced  to  loosen  my  grasp  on  expectation ;  and,  but 
an  hour  ago,  had  sunk  slackly  under  the  discouraging  thought 
that  the  current  of  life,  and  the  impulse  of  destiny,  had  swept 
her  forever  from  my  reach ;  and,  behold,  while  bending  sud- 
denly earthward  beneath  the  pressure  of  despondency — while 
following  with  my  eyes  the  track  of  sorrow  on  the  turf  of  a 
graveyard — here  was  my  lost  jewel  dropped  on  the  tear-fed 
herbage,  nestling  in  the  mossy  and  mouldy  roots  of  yew-trees. 

Frances  sat  very  quiet,  her  elbow  on  her  knee  and  her  head 
on  her  hand.  I  knew  she  could  retain  a  thinking  attitude 
a  long  time  without  change ;  at  last,  a  tear  fell ;  she  had  been 
looking  at  the  name  on  the  stone  before  her,  and  her  heart  had 
no  doubt  endured  one  of  those  constrictions  with  which  the 
desolate  living,  regretting  the  dead,  are  at  times  so  sorely 
oppressed.  Many  tears  rolled  down,  which  she  wiped  away, 
again  and  again,  with  her  handkerchief;  some  distressed  sobs 
escaped  her,  and  then,  the  paroxysm  over,  she  sat  quiet  as 
before.  I  put  my  hand  gently  on  her  shoulder:  no  need  further 
to  prepare  her,  for  she  was  neither  hysterical  nor  liable  to 
fainting-fits.  A  sudden  push,  indeed,  might  have  startled  her, 
but  the  contact  of  my  quiet  touch  merely  woke  attention,  as  I 
wished ;  and,  though  she  turned  quickly,  yet  so  lightning-swift 
is  thought,  in  some  minds  especially,  I  believe  the  wonder  of 
what — the  consciousness  of  who  it  was  that  thus  stole  unawares 
on  her  solitude,  had  passed  through  her  brain,  and  flashed  into 
her  heart,  even  before  she  had  effected  that  hasty  movement ; 
at  least,  Amazement  had  hardly  opened  her  eyes  and  raised 
them  to  mine,  ere  Recognition  informed  their  irids  with  most 
speaking  brightness.  Nervous  surprise  had  hardly  discomposed 
her  featured  ere  a  sentiment  of  most  vivid  joy  shone  clear  and 
warm  on  her  whole  countenance.  I  had  hardly  time  to  observe 
•that  she  was  wasted  and  pale,  ere  called  to  feel  a  responsive  in- 
ward pleasure  by  the  sense  of  most  full  and  exquisite  pleasure 
glowing  in  the  animated  flush,  and  shining  in  the  expansive 
light,  now  diffused  over  my  pupil's  face.  It  was  the  summer 


152  THE  PROFESSOR. 

sun  flashing  out  after  the  heavy  summer  shower;  and  what 
fertilizes  more  rapidly  than  that  beam,  burning  almost  like  fire 
in  its  ardor  ? 

I  hate  boldness — that  boldness  which  is  of  the  brassy  brow 
and  insensate  nerves ;  but  I  love  the  courage  of  the  strong  heart, 
the  fervor  of  the  generous  blood ;  I  loved  with  passion  the  light 
of  Frances  Evans'  clear  hazel  eye  when  it  did  not  fear  to  look 
straight  into  mine ;  I  loved  the  tones  with  which  she  uttered 
the  words — "  Mon  maitre  !  mon  maitre !" 

I  loved  the  movement  with  which  she  confided  her  hand  to 
my  hand ;  I  loved  her  as  she  stood  there,  penniless  and  parent- 
less;  for  a  sensualist  charmless,  for  me  a  treasure — my  best 
object  of  sympathy  on  earth,  thinking  such  thoughts  as  I 
thought,  feeling  such  feelings  as  I  felt ;  my  ideal  of  the  shrine 
in  which  to  seal  my  stores  of  love :  personification  of  discretion 
and  forethought,  of  diligence  and  perseverance,  of  self-denial 
and  self-control — those  guardians,  those  trusty  keepers  of  the 
gift  I  longed  to  confer  on  her — the  gift  of  all  my  affections ; 
model  of  truth  and  honor,  of  independence  and  conscientious- 
ness— those  refiners  and  sustainers  of  an  honest  life ;  silent  pos- 
sessor of  a  well  of  tenderness,  of  a  flame  as  genial,  as  still,  as  pure, 
as  quenchless  of  natural  feeling,  natural  passion — those  sources 
of  refreshment  and  comfort  to  the  sanctuary  of  home.  I  knew  how 
quietly  and  how  deeply  the  well  bubbled  in  her  heart ;  I  knew 
how  the  more  dangerous  flame  burned  safely  under  the  eye  of 
reason :  I  had  seen  when  the  fire  shot  up  a  moment  high  and 
vivid,  when  the  accelerated  heat  troubled  life's  current  in  its 
channels ;  I  had  seen  reason  reduce  the  rebel,  and  humble  its 
blaze  to  embers.  I  had  confidence  in  Frances  Evans ;  I  had 
respect  for  her,  and  as  I  drew  her  arm  through  mine,  and  led 
her  out  of  the  cemetery,  I  felt  I  had  another  sentiment  as  strong 
as  confidence,  as  firm  as  respect,  more  fervid  than  either — that 
of  love. 

"  Well,  my  pupil,"  said  I,  as  the  ominous-sounding  gate 
swung  to  behind  us — "  well,  I  have  found  you  again :  a  month's 
search  has  seemed  long,  and  I  little  thought  to  have  discovered 
my  lost  sheep  straying  amongst  graves." 

Never  had  I  addressed  her  but  as  "  Mademoiselle"  before,  and 
to  speak  thus  was  to  take  up  a  tone  new  to  both  her  and  me. 


THE  PROFESSOR.  153 

Her  answer  apprised  me  that  this  language  ruffled  none  of 
her  feelings,  woke  no  discord  in  her  heart : — 

"  Mon  maltre,"  she  said,  "  have  you  troubled  yourself  to  seek 
me  ?  I  little  imagined  you  would  think  much  of  my  absence, 
but  I  grieved  bitterly  to  be  taken  away  from  you.  I  was  sorry 
for  that  circumstance  when  heavier  troubles  ought  to  have  made 
me  forget  it." 

"  Your  aunt  is  dead  ?" 

"  Yes,  a  fortnight  since ;  and  she  died  full  of  regret,  which  I 
could  not  chase  from  her  mind  ;  she  kept  repeating,  even  during 
the  last  night  of  her  existence,  '  Frances,  you  will  be  so  lonely 
when  I  am  gone,  so  friendless :'  she  wished,  too,  that  she  could 
have  been  buried  in  Switzerland,  and  it  was  I  who  persuaded 
her  in  her  old  age  to  leave  the  banks  of  Lake  Leman,  and  to 
come,  only  as  it  seems  to  die,  in  this  flat  region  of  Flanders. 
Willingly  would  I  have  observed  her  last  wish,  and  taken  her 
remains  back  to  our  own  country,  but  that  was  impossible ;  I 
was  forced  to  lay  her  here." 

"  She  was  ill  but  a  short  time,  I  presume  ?" 

"  But  three  weeks.  When  she  began  to  sink,  I  asked  Mdlle. 
Renter's  leave  to  stay  and  wait  on  her ;  I  readily  got  leave." 

"  Do  you  return  to  the  pensionnat  ?"  I  demanded  hastily. 

"  Monsieur,  when  I  had  been  at  home  a  week,  Mdlle.  Reuter 
called  one  evening,  just  after  I  had  got  my  aunt  to  bed  ;  she 
went  into  her  room  to  speak  to  her,  and  was  extremely  civil 
and  affrfble,  as  she  always  is ;  afterwards  she  came  and  sat  with 
me  a  long  time>  and  just  as  she  rose  to  go  away,  she  said : 
'  Mademoiselle,  I  shall  not  soon  cease  to  regret  your  departure 
from  my  establishment,  though,  indeed,  it  is  true  that  you  have 
taught  your  class  of  pupils  so  well  that  they  are  all  quite  accom- 
plished in  the  little  works  you  manage  so  skilfully,  and  have 
not  the  slightest  need  of  further  instruction  ;  my  second  teacher 
must  in  future  supply  your  place,  with  regard  to  the  younger 
pupils,  as  well  as  she  can,  though  she  is  indeed  an  inferior 
artiste  to  you,  and  doubtless  it  will  be  your  part  now  to  assume 
a  higher  position  in  your  calling;  I  am  sure  you  will  every- 
where find  schools  and  families  willing  to  profit  by  your  talents.' 
And  then  she  paid  me  my  last  quarter's  salary.  I  asked,  as 
Mademoiselle  would  no  doubt  think,  very  bluntly,  if  she  de- 


154  THE  PROFESSOR. 

signed  to  discharge  me  from  the  establishment.  She  smiled  at 
my  inelegance  of  speech,  and  answered  that '  our  connection  as 
employer  and  employed  was  certainly  dissolved,  but  that  she 
hoped  still  to  retain  the  pleasure  of  my  acquaintance;  she 
should  always  be  happy  to  see  me  as  a  friend ;'  and  then  she 
said  something  about  the  excellent  condition  of  the  streets,  the 
long  continuance  of  fine  weather,  and  went  away  quite  cheerful." 

I  laughed  inwardly;  all  this  was  so  like  the  directress — so 
like  what  I  had  expected  and  guessed  of  her  conduct ;  and 
then  exposure  and  proof  of  her  lie,  unconsciously  afforded  by 
Frances: — "She  had  frequently  applied  for  Mdlle.  Henri's 
address,"  forsooth;  "Mdlle.  Henri  had  always  evaded  giving 
it,"  &c.,  &c.,  and  here  I  found  her  a  visitor  at  the  very  house 
of  whose  locality  she  had  professed  absolute  ignorance ! 

Any  comments  I  might  have  intended  to  make  on  my  pupil's 
communication  were  checked  by  the  plashing  of  large  rain- 
drops on  our  faces  and  on  the  path,  and  by  the  muttering  of  a 
distant  but  coming  storm.  The  warning  obvious  in  stagnant 
air  and  leaden  sky  had  already  indxiced  me  to  take  the  road 
leading  back  to  Brussels,  and  now  I  hastened  my  own  steps 
and  those  of  my  companion,  and  as  our  way  lay  down  hill,  we 
got  on  rapidly.  There  was  an  interval  after  the  fall  of  the  first 
broad  drops  before  heavy  rain  came  on ;  in  the  meantime  we  had 
passed  through  the  Porte  de  Louvain,  and  were  again  in  the 
city. 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?"  I  asked ;  "  I  will  see  you  safe  "home." 

"  Rue  Notre  Dame  aux  Neiges,"  answered  Frances. 

It  was  not  far  from  the  Rue  de  Louvain,  and  we  stood  on  the 
door-steps  of  the  house  we  sought  ere  the  clouds,  severing  with 
loud  peals  and  shattered  cataract  of  lightning,  emptied  their 
livid  folds  in  a  torrent,  heavy,  prone,  and  broad. 

"  Come  in !  come  in !"  said  Frances,  as,  after  putting  her  into 
the  house,  I  paused  ere  I  followed.  The  word  decided  me ;  I 
stepped  across  the  threshold,  shut  the  door  on  the  rushing, 
flashing,  whitening  storm,  and  followed  her  up  stairs  to  her 
apartments.  Neither  she  nor  I  were  wet ;  a  projection  over  the 
door  had  warded  off  the  straight-descending  flood ;  none  but  the 
first  large  drops  had  touched  our  garments  ;  one  minute  more 
and  we  should  not  have  had  a  dry  thread  on  us. 


THE  PROFESSOR.  155 

Stepping  over  a  little  mat  of  green  wool,  I  found  myself  in  a 
small  room  with  a  painted  floor  and  a  square  of  green  carpet  in 
the  middle ;  the  articles  of  furniture  were  few,  but  all  bright 
and  exquisitely  clean ;  order  reigned  through  its  narrow  limits 
— such  order  as  it  soothed  my  punctilious  soul  to  behold.  And 
I  had  hesitated  to  enter  the  abode,  because  I  apprehended  after 
all  that  Mdlle.  Reuter's  hint  about  its  extreme  poverty  might 
be  too  well-founded,  and  I  feared  to  embarrass  the  lace-mender 
by  entering  her  lodgings  'unawares !  Poor  the  place  might  be ; 
poor  truly  it  was ;  but  its  neatness  was  better  than  elegance, 
and  had  but  a  bright  little  fire  shone  on  that  clean  hearth,  I 
should  have  deemed  it  more  attractive  than  a  palace.  No  fire 
was  there,  however,  and  no  fuel  laid  ready  to  light ;  the  lace- 
mender  was  unable  to  allow  herself  that  indulgence,  especially 
now  when,  deprived  by  death  of  her  sole  relative,  she  had  only 
her  own  unaided  exertions  to  rely  on.  Frances  went  into  an 
inner  room  to  take  off  her  bonnet,  and  she  came  out  a  model  of 
frugal  neatness,  with  her  well-fitting  black  stuff  dress,  so  accu- 
rately defining  her  elegant  bust  and  taper  waist,  with  her  spot- 
less white  collar  turned  back  from  a  fair  and  shapely  neck, 
with  her  plenteous  brown  hair  arranged  in  smooth  bands  on  her 
temples,  and  in  her  large  Grecian  plait  behind.  Ornaments 
she  had  none — neither  brooch,  ring,  nor  ribbon  ;  she  did  well 
enough  without  them — perfection  of  fit,  proportion  of  form, 
grace  of  carriage,  agreeably  supplied  their  place.  Her  eye,  as 
she  re-entered  the  small  sitting-room,  instantly  sought  mine, 
which  was  just  then  lingering  on  the  hearth ;  I  knew  she  read 
at  once  the  sort  of  inward  ruth  and  pitying  pain  which  the  chill 
vacancy  of  that  hearth  stirred  in  my  soul :  quick  to  penetrate, 
quick  to  determine,  and  quicker  to  put  in  practice,  she  had  in  a 
moment  tied  a  holland  apron  round  her  waist ;  then  she  dis- 
appeared, and  reappeared  with  a  basket ;  it  had  a  cover ;  she 
opened  it,  and  produced  wood  and  coal ;  deftly  and  compactly 
she  arranged  them  in  the  grate. 

"  It  is  her  whole  stock,  and  she  will  exhaust  it  out  of  hospi- 
tality," thought  I. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  I  asked :  "  not  surely  to  light 
a  fire  this  hot  evening?  I  shall  be  smothered." 

"  Indeed,  Monsieur,  I  feel  it  very  chilly  since  the  rain  began ; 


156  THE  PROFESSOR. 

besides,  I  must  boil  the  water  for  my  tea,  for  I  take  tea  on 
Sundays ;  you  will  be  obliged  to  try  and  bear  the  heat." 

She  had  struck  a  light ;  the  wood  was  already  in  a  blaze;  and 
truly,  when  contrasted  with  the  darkness,  the  wild  tumult  of 
the  tempest  without,  that  peaceful  glow  which  began  to  beam  on 
the  now  animated  hearth  seemed  very  cheering.  A  low  purring 
sound,  from  some  quarter,  announced  that  another  being  besides 
myself  was  pleased  with  the  change ;  a  black  cat,  roused  by  the 
light  from  its  sleep  on  a  little  cushioned  foot-stool,  came  and 
rubbed  its  head  against  Frances'  gown  as  she  knelt ;  she  caressed 
it,  saying  that  it  had  been  a  favorite  with  her  "  pauvre  tante 
Julienne." 

The  fire  being  lit,  the  hearth  swept,  and  a  small  kettle  of  a 
very  antique  pattern,  such  as  I  thought  I  remembered  to  have 
seen  in  old  farmhouses  in  England,  placed  over  the  now  ruddy 
flame,  Frances'  hands  were  washed,  and  her  apron  removed  in 
an  instant ;  then  she  opened  a  cupboard,  and  took  out  a  tea- 
tray,  on  which  she  had  soon  arranged  a  china  tea-equipage, 
whose  pattern,  shape,  and  size  denoted  a  remote  antiquity ;  a 
little,  old-fashioned  silver  spoon  was  deposited  in  each  saucer ; 
and  a  pair  of  silver  tongs,  equally  old-fashioned,  were  laid  on  the 
sugar-basin ;  from  the  cupboard,  too,  was  produced  a  tiny  silver 
cream-ewer,  not  larger  than  an  egg-shell.  While  making  these 
preparations,  she  chanced  to  look  up,  and  reading  curiosity  in 
my  eyes,  she  smiled  and  asked — "Is  this  like  England,  Mon- 
sieur?" 

"  Like  the  England  of  a  hundred  years  ago,"  I  replied. 

"  Is  it  truly  ?  "Well,  everything  on  this  tray  is  at  least  a 
hundred  years  old ;  these  cups,  these  spoons,  this  ewer,  are  all 
heirlooms :  my  great-grandmother  left  them  to  my  grandmother, 
she  to  my  mother,  and  my  mother  brought  them  with  her  from 
England  to  Switzerland,  and  left  them  to  me ;  and  ever  since  I 
was  a  little  girl  I  have  thought  I  should  like  to  carry  them 
back  to  England,  whence  they  came." 

She  put  some  pistolets  on  the  table ;  she  made  the  tea,  as 
foreigners  do  make  tea — i.  e.,  at  the  rate  of  a  teaspoonful  to 
half-a-dozen  cups :  she  placed  me  a  chair,  and,  as  I  took  it,  she 
asked,  with  a  sort  of  exultation — "Will  it  make  you  think 
yourself  at  home  for  a  moment  ?" 


THE  PROFESSOR.  157 

"  If  I  had  a  home  in  England,  I  believe  it  would  recall  it,"  I 
answered ;  and,  in  truth,  there  was  a  sort  of  illusion  in  seeing 
the  fair-complexioned  English-looking  girl  presiding  at  the 
English  meal,  and  speaking  in  the  English  language. 

"  You  have  then  no  home  ?"  was  her  remark. 
-    "  None,  nor  ever  have  had.     If  ever  I  possess  a  home,  it  must 
be  of  my  own  making,  and  the  task  is  yet  to  begin." 

And,  as  I  spoke,  a  pang  new  to  me  shot  across  my  heart :  it 
was  a  pang  of  mortification  at  the  humility  of  my  position,  and 
the  inadequacy  of  my  means ;  while  with  that  pang  was  born  a 
strong  desire  to  do  more,  earn  more,  be  more,  possess  more ;  and 
in  the  increased  possessions,  my  roused  and  eager  spirit  panted 
to  include  the  home  I  had  never  had,  the  wife  I  inwardly  vowed 
to  win. 

Frances'  tea  was  little  better  than  hot  water,  sugar  and  milk ; 
and  her  pistolets,  with  which  she  could  not  offer  me  butter,  were 
sweet  to  my  palate  as  manna. 

The  repast  over,  and  the  treasured  plate  and  porcelain  being 
washed  and  put  by,  the  bright  table  rubbed  still  brighter,  "  le 
chat  de  ma  taute  Julienne"  also  being  fed  with  provisions 
brought  forth  on  a  plate  for  its  special  use,  a  few  stray  cinders, 
and  a  scattering  of  ashes  too,  being  swept  from  the  hearth, 
Frances  at  last  sat  down ;  and  then,  as  she  took  a  chair  oppo- 
site to  me,  she  betrayed,  for  the  first  time,  a  little  embarrass- 
ment ;  and  no  wonder,  for  indeed  I  had  unconsciously  watched 
her  rather  too  closely,  followed  all  her  steps  and  all  her  move- 
ments a  little  too  perseveringly  with  my  eyes,  for  she  mes- 
merized me  by  the  grace  and  alertness  of  her  action — by  the 
deft,  cleanly,  and  even  decorative  effect  resulting  from  each 
touch  of  her  slight  and  fine  fingers ;  and  when  at  last  she  sub- 
sided to  stillness,  the  intelligence  of  her  face  seemed  beauty  to 
me,  and  I  dwelt  on  it  accordingly.  Her  color,  however,  rising, 
rather  than  settling  with  repose,  and  her  eyes  remaining  down- 
cast, though  I  kept  waiting  for  the  lids  to  be  raised  that  I  might 
drink  a  ray  of  the  light  I  loved — a  light  where  fire  dissolved  in 
softness,  where  affection  tempered  penetration,  where,  just  now 
at  least,  pleasure  played  with  thought — this  expectation  not 
being  gratified,  I  began  at  last  to  suspect  that  I  had  probably 
myself  to  blame  for  the  disappointment ;  I  must  cease  gazing, 


158  THE  PROFESSOR. 

and  begin  talking,  if  I  wished  to  break  the  spell  under  which 
she  now  sat  motionless;  so  recollecting  the  composing  effect 
which  an  authoritative  tone  and  manner  had  ever  been  wont  to 
produce  on  her,  I  said — "  Get  one  of  your  English  books, 
Mademoiselle,  for  the  rain  yet  falls  heavily,  and  will  probably 
detain  me  half  an  hour  longer." 

Released,  and  set  at  ease,  up  she  rose,  got  her  book,  and 
accepted  at  once  the  chair  I  placed  for  her  at  my  side.  She  had 
selected  "  Paradise  Lost "  from  her  shelf  of  classics,  thinking,  I 
suppose,  the  religious  character  of  the  book  best  adapted  it  to 
Sunday ;  I  told  her  to  begin  at  the  beginning,  and  while  she 
read  Milton's  invocation  to  that  heavenly  muse,  who  on  the 
"  secret  top  of  Oreb  or  Sinai "  had  taught  the  Hebrew  shepherd 
how,  in  the  womb  of  chaos,  the  conception  of  a  world  had  origi- 
nated and  ripened,  I  enjoyed,  undisturbed,  the  treble  pleasure 
of  having  her  near  me,  hearing  the  sound  of  her  voice — a  sound 
sweet  and  satisfying  in  my  ear — and  looking,  by  intervals,  at 
her  face ;  of  this  last  privilege  I  chiefly  availed  myself  when  I 
found  fault  with  an  intonation,  a  pause,  or  an  emphasis ;  as  long 
as  I  dogmatized,  I  might  also  gaze,  without  exciting  too  warm 
a  flush. 

"  Enough,"  said  I,  when  she  had  gone  through  some  half- 
dozen  pages  (a  work  of  time  with  her,  for  she  read  slowly,  and 
paused  often  to  ask  and  receive  information) — "  enough ;  and 
now  the  rain  is  ceasing,  and  I  must  soon  go." 

For  indeed,  at  that  moment,  looking  towards  the  window,  I 
saw  it  all  blue ;  the  thunder-clouds  were  broken  and  scattered, 
and  the  setting  August  sun  sent  a  gleam  like  the  reflection  of 
rubies  through  the  lattice.  I  got  up ;  I  drew  on  my  gloves. 

"  You  have  not  yet  found  a  situation  to  supply  the  place 
of  that  from  which  you  were  dismissed  by  Mdlle.  Renter  ?" 

"  No,  Monsieur ;  I  have  made  inquiries  everywhere,  but  they 
all  ask  me  for  references ;  and  to  speak  truth,  I  do  not  like  to 
apply  to  the  directress,  because  I  consider  she  acted  neither 
justly  nor  honorably  towards  me ;  she  used  underhand  means  to 
set  my  pupils  against  me,  and  thereby  render  me  unhappy  while 
I  held  my  place  in  her  establishment,  and  she  eventually  de- 
prived me  of  it  by  a  masked  and  hypocritical  manoeuvre,  pre- 
tending that  she  was  acting  for  my  good,  but  really  snatching 


THE  PROFESSOR.  159 

from  me  my  chief  means  of  subsistence,  at  a  crisis  when  not 
only  my  own  life,  but  that  of  another,  depended  on  my  exer- 
tions :  of  her  I  will  never  more  ask  a  favor." 

"  How,  then,  do  you  propose  to  get  on  ?  How  do  you  live 
now?" 

"  I  have  still  my  lace-mending  trade ;  with  care  it  will  keep 
me  from  starvation,  and  I  doubt  not  by  dint  of  exertion  to  get 
better  employment  yet ;  it  is  only  a  fortnight  since  I  began  to 
try ;  my  courage  or  hopes  are  by  no  means  worn  out  yet." 

"  And  if  you  get  what  you  wish,  what  then  ?  what  are  your 
ultimate  views  ?" 

"  To  save  enough  to  cross  the  Channel :  I  always  looked  to 
England  as  my  Canaan." 

"  Well,  well — ere  long  I  shall  pay  you  another  visit ;  good- 
evening  now,"  and  I  left  her  rather  abruptly ;  I  had  much  ado 
to  resist  a  strong  inward  impulse,  urging  me  to  take  a  warmer, 
more  expressive  leave ;  what  so  natural  as  to  fold  her  for  a  mo- 
ment in  a  close  embrace,  to  imprint  one  kiss  on  her  cheek  or 
forehead  ?  I  was  not  unreasonable — that  was  all  I  wanted ; 
satisfied  on  that  point,  I  could  go  away  content ;  and  Reason 
denied  me  even  this ;  she  ordered  me  to  turn  my  eyes  from  her 
face,  and  my  steps  from  her  apartment — to  quit  her  as  dryly 
and  coldly  as  I  would  have  quitted  old  Madame  Pelet.  I 
obeyed,  but  I  swore  rancorously  to  be  avenged  one  day.  "  I'll 
earn  a  right  to  do  as  I  please  in  this  matter,  or  I'll  die  in  the 
contest.  I  have  one  object  before  me  now — to  get  that  Gene- 
vese  girl  for  my  wife  ;  and  my  wife  she  shall  be — that  is,  pro- 
vided she  has  as  much,  or  half  as  much,  regard  for  her  master 
as  he  has  for  her.  And  would  she  be  so  docile,  so  smiling,  so 
happy  under  my  instructions  if  she  had  not  ?  "Would  she  sit 
at  my  side  when  I  dictate  or  correct,  with  such  a  still,  contented, 
halcyon  mien  ?"  For  I  had  ever  remarked,  that  however  sad 
or  harassed  her  countenance  might  be  when  I  entered  a  room, 
yet  after  I  had  been  near  her,  spoken  to  her  a  few  words,  given 
her  some  directions,  uttered  perhaps  some  reproofs,  she  would 
all  at  once  nestle  into  a  nook  of  happiness,  and  look  up  serene 
and  revived.  The  reproofs  suited  her  best  of  all :  while  I 
scolded,  she  would  chip  away  with  her  pen-knife  at  a  pencil  or 
a  pen ;  fidgeting  a  little,  pouting  a  little,  defending  herself  by 


160  THE  PROFESSOR. 

monosyllables,  and  when  I  deprived  her  of  the  pen  or  pencil, 
fearing  it  would  be  all  cut  away,  and  when  I  interdicted  even 
the  monosyllabic  defence,  for  the  purpose  of  working  up  the 
subdued  excitement  a  little  higher,  she  would  at  last  raise  her 
eyes  and  give  me  a  certain  glance,  sweetened  with  gayety,  and 
pointed  with  defiance,  which,  to  speak  truth,  thrilled  me  as 
nothing  had  ever  done,  and  made  me,  in  a  fashion  (though  hap- 
pily she  did  not  know  it),  her  subject,  if  not  her  slave.  After 
such  little  scenes  her  spirits  would  maintain  their  flow,  often 
for  some  hours,  and,  as  I  remarked  before,  her  health  there- 
from took  a  sustenance  and  vigor  which,  previously  to  the  event 
of  her  aunt's  death  and  her  dismissal,  had  almost  recreated  her 
whole  frame. 

It  has  taken  me  several  minutes  to  write  these  last  sentences ; 
but  I  had  thought  all  their  purport  during  the  brief  interval 
of  descending  the  stairs  from  Frances'  room.  Just  as  I  was 
opening  the  outer  door,  I  remembered  the  twenty  francs  which 
I  had  not  restored ;  I  paused :  impossible  to  carry  them  away 
with  me ;  difficult  to  force  them  back  on  their  original  owner ; 
I  had  now  seen  her  in  her  own  humble  abode,  witnessed  the 
dignity  of  her  poverty,  the  pride  of  order,  the  fastidious  care  of 
conservatism,  obvious  in  the  arrangement  and  economy  of  her 
little  home ;  I  was  sure  she  would  not  suffer  herself  to  be 
excused  paying  her  debts ;  I  was  certain  the  favor  of  indemnity 
would  be  accepted  from  no  hand,  perhaps  least  of  all  from 
mine :  yet  these  four  five-franc  pieces  were  a  burden  to  my  self- 
respect,  and  I  must  get  rid  of  them.  An  expedient — a  clumsy 
one,  no  doubt,  but  the  best  I  could  devise — suggested  itself  to 
me.  I  darted  up  the  stairs,  knocked,  re-entered  the  room  as  if 
in  haste. 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  have  forgotten  one  of  my  gloves  ;  I  must 
have  left  it  here." 

She  instantly  rose  to  seek  it ;  as  she  turned  her  back,  I — 
being  now  at  the  hearth — noiselessly  lifted  a  little  vase,  one  of 
a  set  of  china  ornaments,  as  old-fashioned  as  the  teacups — 
slipped  the  money  under  it,  then  saying — "Oh,  here  is  my 
glove!  I  had  dropped  it  within  the  fender;  good-evening, 
Mademoiselle,"  I  made  my  second  exit. 

Brief  as  my  impromptu  return  had  been,  it  had  afforded  me 


THE  PROFESSOR.  161 

time  to  pick  up  a  heart-ache ;  I  remarked  that  Frances  had 
already  removed  the  red  embers  of  her  cheerful  little  fire  from 
the  grate :  forced  to  calculate  every  item,  to  save  in  every  detail, 
she  had  instantly  on  my  departure  retrenched  a  luxury  too  ex- 
pensive to  be  enjoyed  alone. 

"  I  am  glad  it  is  not  yet  winter,"  thought  I,  "  but  in  two 
months  more  come  the  winds  and  rains  of  November ;  would  to 
God  that  before  then  I  could  earn  the  right,  and  the  power,  to 
shovel  coals  into  that  grate  ad  libitum  f" 

Already  the  pavement  was  drying ;  a  balmy  and  fresh  breeze 
stirred  the  air,  purified  by  lightning ;  I  felt  the  West  behind 
me,  where  spread  a  sky  like  opal ;  azure  immiugled  with  crim- 
son :  the  enlarged  sun,  glorious  in  Tyrian  tints,  dipped  his  brim 
already ;  stepping,  as  I  was,  eastward,  I  faced  a  vast  bank  of 
clouds,  but  also  I  had  before  me  the  arch  of  an  evening  rain- 
bow ;  a  perfect  rainbow — high,  wide,  vivid.  I  looked  long ;  my 
eye  drank  in  the  scene,  and  I  suppose  my  brain  must  have  ab- 
sorbed it ;  for  that  night,  after  lying  awake  in  pleasant  fever  a 
long  time,  watching  the  silent  sheet-lightning,  which  still  played 
among  the  retreating  clouds,  and  flashed  silvery  over  the  stars, 
I  at  last  fell  asleep ;  and  then  in  a  dream  were  reproduced  the 
setting  sun,  the  bank  of  clouds,  the  mighty  rainbow.  Methought 
I  stood  on  a  terrace ;  I  leaned  over  a  parapeted  Avail ;  there  was 
space  below  me,  depth  I  could  not  fathom,  but  hearing  an  end- 
less dash  of  waves,  I  believed  it  to  be  the  sea.  Sea  spread  to 
the  horizon — sea  of  changeful  green  and  intense  blue, — all  was 
soft  in  the  distance,  all  vapor-veiled.  A  spark  of  gold  glistened 
on  the  line  between  water  and  air,  floated  up,  approached, 
enlarged,  changed ;  the  object  hung  midway  between  heaven 
and  earth,  under  the  arch  of  the  rainbow ;  the  soft  but  dusk 
clouds  diffused  behind.  It  hovered  as  on  wings ;  pearly,  fleecy, 
gleaming  air  streamed  like  raiment  round  it ;  light,  tinted  with 
carnation,  colored  what  seemed  face  and  limbs;  a  large  star 
shone  with  still  lustre  on  an  angel's  forehead ;  an  upraised  arm 
and  hand,  glancing  like  a  ray,  pointed  to  the  bow  overhead,  and 
a  voice  in  my  heart  whispered,  "  Hope  smiles  on  Effort !" 


11 


162  THE  PROFESSOR. 


CHAPTER     XX. 

~T"TT~HAT  I  wanted  was  a  competency ;  a  competency  it  was 
V  V  now  my  aim  and  resolve  to  secure ;  but  never  had  I 
been  farther  from  the  mark.  With  August  the  school  year 
(1'annee  scolaire)  closed,  the  examinations  concluded,  the  prizes 
were  adjudged,  the  schools  dispersed,  the  gates  of  all  colleges,  the 
doors  of  all  pensionnats,  shut,  not  to  be  reopened  till  the  begin- 
ning or  middle  of  October.  The  last  day  of  August  was  at 
hand,  and  what  was  my  position  ?  Had  I  advanced  a  step  since 
the  commencement  of  the  past  quarter  ?  On  the  contrary,  I 
had  receded  one.  By  renouncing  my  engagement  in  Mdlle. 
Renter's  establishment,  I  had  voluntarily  cut  off  twenty  pounds 
from  my  yearly  income;  I  had  diminished  my  sixty  pounds 
per  annum  to  forty  pounds,  and  even  that  sum  I  now  held  by  a 
very  precarious  tenure. 

It  is  some  time  since  I  made  any  reference  to  M.  Pelet.  The 
moonlight  walk  is,  I  think,  the  last  incident  recorded  in  this 
narrative  where  that  gentleman  cuts  any  conspicuous  figure ; 
the  fact  is,  since  that  event,  a  change  had  come  over  the  spirit 
of  our  intercourse.  He,  indeed,  ignorant  that  the  still  hour,  a 
cloudless  moon,  and  an  open  lattice  had  revealed  to  me  the 
secret  of  his  selfish  love  and  false  friendship,  would  have  con- 
tinued smooth  and  complaisant  as  ever  ;  but  I  grew  spiny  as  a 
porcupine  and  inflexible  as  a  blackthorn  cudgel.  I  never  had 
a  smile  for  his  raillery,  never  a  moment  for  his  society.  His 
invitations  to  take  coffee  with  him  in  his  parlor  were  invariably 
rejected,  and  very  stiffly  and  sternly  rejected  too ;  his  jesting 
allusions  to  the  directress  (which  he  still  continued)  were  heard 
with  a  grim  calm  very  different  from  the  petulant  pleasure  they 
were  formerly  wont  to  excite.  For  a  long  time  Pelet  bore  with 
my  frigid  demeanor  very  patiently ;  he  even  increased  his  at- 
tentions ;  but  finding  that  even  a  cringing  politeness  failed  to 
thaw  or  move  me,  he  at  last  altered  too ;  in  his  turn  he  cooled ; 
his  invitations  ceased ;  his  countenance  became  suspicious  and 
overcast,  and  I  read,  in  the  perplexed  yet  brooding  aspect  of 


THE  PROFESSOR.  163 

his  brow,  a  constant  examination  and  comparison  of  premises, 
and  an  anxious  endeavor  to  draw  thence  some  explanatory  in- 
ference. Ere  long,  I  fancy,  he  succeeded,  for  he  was  not  with- 
out penetration  ;  perhaps,  too,  Mdlle.  Zoraide  might  have  aided 
him  in  the  solution  of  the  enigma ;  at  any  rate  I  soon  found 
that  the  uncertainty  of  doubt  had  vanished  from  his  manner ; 
renouncing  all  pretence  of  friendship  and  cordiality,  he  adopted 
a  reserved,  formal,  but  still  scrupulously  polite  deportment. 
This  was  the  point  to  which  I  had  wished  to  bring  him,  and  I 
was  now  again  comparatively  at  my  ease.  I  did  not,  it  is  true, 
like  my  position  in  his  house ;  but  being  freed  from  the  annoy- 
ance of  false  professions  and  double-dealing,  I  could  endure  it, 
especially  as  no  heroic  sentiment  of  hatred  or  jealousy  of  the 
director  distracted  my  philosophical  soul ;  he  had  not,  I  found, 
wounded  me  in  a  very  tender  point,  the  wound  was  so  soon  and 
so  radically  healed,  leaving  only  a  sense  of  contempt  for  the 
treacherous  fashion  in  which  it  had  been  inflicted,  and  a  lasting 
mistrust  of  the  hand  which  I  had  detected  attempting  to  stab 
in  the  dark. 

This  state  of  things  continued  till  about  the  middle  of  July, 
and  then  there  was  a  little  change ;  Pelet  came  home  one  night, 
an  hour  after  his  usual  time,  in  a  state  of  unequivocal  intoxi- 
cation, a  thing  anomalous  with  him ;  for  if  he  had  some  of  the 
worst  faults  of  his  countrymen,  he  had  also  one  at  least  of  their 
virtues,  i.  e.,  sobriety.  So  drunk,  however,  was  he  upon  this 
occasion,  that  after  having  roused  the  whole  establishment 
(except  the  pupils,  whose  dormitory  being  over  the  classes  in  a 
building  apart  from  the  dwelling-house,  was  consequently  out 
of  the  reach  of  disturbance)  by  violently  ringing  the  hall-bell 
and  ordering  lunch  to  be  brought  in  immediately,  for  he 
imagined  it  was  noon,  whereas  the  city  bells  had  just  tolled 
midnight ;  after  having  furiously  rated  the  servants  for  their 
want  of  punctuality,  and  gone  near  to  chastise  his  poor  old 
mother,  who  advised  him  to  go  to  bed,  he  began  raving  dread- 
fully about  "le  maudit  Anglais,  Creemsvort."  I  had  not  yet 
retired ;  some  German  books  I  had  got  hold  of  had  kept  me  up 
late ;  I  heard  the  uproar  below,  and  could  distinguish  the 
director's  voice  exalted  in  a  manner  as  appalling  as  it  was 
unusual.  Opening  my  door  a  little,  I  became  aware  of  a 


164  THE  PROFESSOR. 

demand  on  his  part  for  "Creemsvort"  to  be  brought  down  to 
him  that  he  might  cut  his  throat  on  the  hall-table  and  wash  his 
honor,  which  he  affirmed  to  be  in  a  dirty  condition,  in  infernal 
British  blood.  "  He  is  either  mad  or  drunk,"  thought  I,  "  and 
in  either  case  the  old  woman  and  the  servants  will  be  the  better 
of  a  man's  assistance,"  so  I  descended  straight  to  the  hall.  I 
found  him  staggering  about,  his  eyes  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling — a 
pretty  sight  he  was,  a  just  medium  between  the  fool  and  the 
lunatic. 

"  Come,  M.  Pelet,"  said  I,  "  you  had  better  go  to  bed,"  and  I 
took  hold  of  his  arm.  His  excitement,  of  course,  increased 
greatly  at  sight  and  touch  of  the  individual  for  whose  blood  he 
had  been  making  application :  he  struggled  and  struck  with 
fury — but  a  drunken  man  is  no  match  for  a  sober  one;  and, 
even  in  his  normal  state,  Pelet's  worn-out  frame  could  not  have 
stood  against  my  sound  one.  I  got  him  up  stairs,  and,  in  pro- 
cess of  time,  to  bed.  During  the  operation  he  did  not  fail  to 
utter  comminations,  which,  though  broken,  had  a  sense  in 
them ;  while  stigmatizing  me  as  the  treacherous  spawn  of  a 
perfidious  country,  he,  in  the'  same  breath,  anathematized 
Zora'ide  Reuter;  he  termed  her  "femme  sotte  et  vicieuse,"  who, 
in  a  fit  of  lewd  caprice,  had  thrown  herself  away  on  an  unprin- 
cipled adventurer;  directing  the  point  of  the  last  appellation 
by  a  furious  blow,  obliquely  aimed  at  me.  I  left  him  in  the 
act  of  bounding  elastically  out  of  the  bed  into  which  I  had 
tucked  him ;  but  as  I  took  the  precaution  of  turning  the  key  in 
the  door  behind  me,  I  retired  to  my  own  room,  assured  of  his 
safe  custody  till  the  morning,  and  free  to  draw  undisturbed 
conclusions  from  the  scene  I  had  just  witnessed. 

Now,  it  was  precisely  about  this  time  that  the  directress, 
stung  by  my  coldness,  bewitched  by  my  scorn,  and  excited  by 
the  preference  she  suspected  me  of  cherishing  for  another,  had 
fallen  into  a  snare  of  her  own  laying — was  herself  caught  in 
the  meshes  of  the  very  passion  with  which  she  wished  to 
entangle  me.  Conscious  of  the  state  of  things  in  that  quarter, 
I  gathered,  from  the  condition  in  which  I  saw  my  employer, 
that  his  lady-love  had  betrayed  the  alienation  of  her  affections 
— inclinations,  rather,  I  would  say  ;  affection  is  a  word  at  once 
too  warm  and  too  pure  for  the  subject — had  let  him  see  that  the 


THE  PROFESSOR.  165 

cavity  of  her  hollow  heart,  emptied  of  his  image,  was  now  occu- 
pied by  that  of  his  usher.  It  was  not  without  some  surprise 
that  I  found  myself  obliged  to  entertain  this  view  of  the  case ; 
Pelet,  with  his  old-established  school,  was  so  convenient,  so 
profitable  a  match — Zoraide  was  so  calculating,  so  interested  a 
woman — I  wondered  mere  personal  preference  could,  in  her 
mind,  have  prevailed  for  a  moment  over  worldly  advantage ; 
yet  it  was  evident,  from  what  Pelet  said,  that  not  only  had  she 
repulsed  him,  but  had  even  let  slip  expressions  of  partiality  for 
me.  One  of  his  drunken  exclamations  was,  "And  the  jade 
doats  on  your  youth,  you  raw  blockhead !  and  talks  of  your 
noble  deportment,  as  she  calls  your  cursed  English  formality — 
and  your  pure  morals,  forsooth !  des  moeurs  de  Caton  a-t-elle 
dit — sotte !"  Hers,  I  thought,  must  be  a  curious  soul,  where, 
in  spite  of  a  strong  natural  tendency  to  estimate  unduly  advan- 
tages of  wealth  and  station,  the  sardonic  disdain  of  a  fortuneless 
subordinate  had  wrought  a  deeper  impression  than  could  be  im- 
printed by  the  most  flattering  assiduities  of  a  prosperous  chef 
d' institution.  I  smiled  inwardly ;  and,  strange  to  say,  though 
my  amour  propre  was  excited  not  disagreeably  by  the  conquest, 
my  better  feelings  remained  untouched.  Next  day,  when  I  saw 
the  directress,  and  when  she  made  an  excuse  to  meet  me  in  the 
corridor,  and  besought  my  notice  by  a  demeanor  and  look  sub- 
dued to  Helot  humility,  I  could  not  love,  I  could  scarcely  pity 
her.  To  answer  briefly  and  dryly  some  interesting  inquiry 
about  my  health — to  pass  her  by  with  a  stern  bow — was  all  I 
could ;  her  presence  and  manner  had  then,  and  for  some  time 
previously  and  consequently,  a  singular  effect  upon  me ;  they 
sealed  up  all  that  was  good,  elicited  all  that  was  noxious  in  my 
nature ;  sometimes  they  enervated  my  senses,  but  they  always 
hardened  my  heart.  I  was  aware  of  the  detriment  done,  and 
quarrelled  with  myself  for  the  change.  I  had  ever  hated  a 
tyrant ;  and,  behold,  the  possession  of  a  slave,  self-given,  went 
near  to  transform  me  into  what  I  abhorred!  There  was  at 
once  a  sort  of  low  gratification  in  receiving  this  luscious  incense 
from  an  attractive  and  still  young  worshipper,  and  an  irritat- 
ing sense  of  degradation  in  the  very  experience  of  the  pleasure. 
When  she  stole  about  me  with  the  soft  step  of  a  slave,  I  felt  at 
once  barbarous  and  sensual  as  a  pasha.  I  endured  her  homage 


166  THE  PROFESSOR. 

sometimes ;  sometimes  I  rebuked  it.  My  indifference  or  harsh- 
ness served  equally  to  increase  the  evil  I  desired  to  check. 

"  Que  le  dedain  lui  sied  bien !"  I  once  overheard  her  say  to 
her  mother ;  "  il  est  beau  comme  Apollon  quand  il  sourit  de  son 
air  hautain." 

And  the  jolly  old  dame  laughed,  and  said  she  thought  her 
daughter  was  bewitched,  for  I  had  no  point  of  a  handsome  man 
about  me,  except  being  straight  and  without  deformity.  "  Pour 
moi,"  she  continued,  "  il  me  fait  tout  1'effet  d'un  chat-huaut, 
avec  ses  besides." 

"Worthy  old  girl !  I  could  have  gone  and  kissed  her  had  she 
not  been  a  little  too  old,  too  fat,  and  too  red-faced ;  her  sensible 
truthful  words  seemed  so  wholesome,  contrasted  with  the  morbid 
illusions  of  her  daughter. 

When  Pelet  awoke  on  the  morning  after  his  frenzy  fit,  he  re- 
tained no  recollection  of  what  had  happened  the  previous  night, 
and  his  mother  fortunately  had  the  discretion  to  refrain  from 
informing  him  that  I  had  been  a  witness  of  his  degradation. 
He  did  not  again  have  recourse  to  wine  for  curing  his  griefs, 
but  even  in  his  sober  mood  he  soon  showed  that  the  iron  of 
jealousy  had  entered  into  his  soul.  A  thorough  Frenchman, 
the  national  characteristic  of  ferocity  had  not  been  omitted  by 
nature  in  compounding  the  ingredients  of  his  character ;  it  had 
appeared  first  in  his  access  of  drunken  wrath,  when  some  of  his 
demonstrations  of  hatred  to  my  person  were  of  a  truly  fiendish 
character,  and  now  it  was  more  covertly  betrayed  by  momen- 
tary contractions  of  the  features,  and  flashes  of  fierceness  in  his 
light  blue  eyes,  when  their  glance  chanced  to  encounter  mine. 
He  absolutely  avoided  speaking  to  me ;  I  was  now  spared  even 
the  falsehood  of  his  politeness.  In  this  state  of  our  mutual 
relations,  my  soul  rebelled,  sometimes  almost  ungovernably, 
against  living  in  the  house  and  discharging  the  service  of  such 
a  man ;  but  who  is  free  from  the  constraint  of  circumstances  ? 
At  that  time  I  was  not :  I  used  to  rise  each  morning  eager  to 
shake  off  his  yoke,  and  go  out  with  my  portmanteau  under  my 
arm,  if  a  beggar,  at  least  a  freeman ;  and  in  the  evening,  when 
I  came  back  from  the  pensionnat  de  demoiselles,  a  certain 
pleasant  voice  in  my  ear;  a  certain  face,  so  intelligent,  yet  so 
docile,  so  reflective,  yet  so  soft,  in  my  eyes ;  a  certain  cast  of 


THE  PROFESSOR.  167 

character,  at  once  proud  and  pliant,  sensitive  and  sagacious, 
serious  and  ardent,  in  my  head ;  a  certain  tone  of  feeling,  fervid 
and  modest,  refined  and  practical,  pure  and  powerful,  delight- 
ing and  troubling  my  memory — visions  of  new  ties  I  longed  to 
contract,  of  new  duties  I  longed  to  undertake,  had  taken  the 
rover  and  the  rebel  out  of  me,  and  had  shown  endurance  of  my 
hated  lot  in  the  light  of  a  Spartan  virtue. 

But  Pelet's  fury  subsided :  a  fortnight  sufficed  for  its  rise, 
progress,  and  extinction ;  in  that  space  of  time  the  dismissal  of 
the  obnoxious  teacher  had  been  effected  in  the  neighboring 
house,  and  in  the  same  interval  I  had  declared  my  resolution  to 
follow  and  find  out  my  pupil,  and  upon  my  application  for  her 
address  being  refused,  I  had  summarily  resigned  my  own  post. 
This  last  act  seemed  at  once  to  restore  Mdlle.  Reuter  to  her 
senses ;  her  sagacity,  her  judgment,  so  long  misled  by  a  fascin- 
ating delusion,  struck  again  into  the  right  track  the  moment 
that  delusion  vanished.  By  the  right  track,  I  do  not  mean 
the  steep  and  difficult  path  of  principle — in  that  path  she  never 
trod  ;  but  the  plain  highway  of  common  sense,  from  which  she 
had  of  late  widely  diverged.  When  there,  she  carefully  sought, 
and  having  found,  industriously  pursued  the  trial  of  her  old 
suitor,  M.  Pelet.  She  soon  overtook  him.  What  arts  she  em- 
ployed to  soothe  and  blind  him  I  know  not,  but  she  succeeded 
both  in  allaying  his  wrath  and  hoodwinking  his  discernment, 
as  was  soon  proved  by  the  alteration  in  his  mien  and  manner ; 
she  must  have  managed  to  convince  him  that  I  neither  was,  nor 
ever  had  been,  a  rival  of  his,  for  the  fortnight  of  fury  against 
me  terminated  in  a  fit  of  exceeding  graciousness  and  amenity, 
not  unmixed  with  a  dash  of  exulting  self-complacency,  more 
ludicrous  than  irritating.  Pelet's  bachelor's  life  had  been 
passed  in  proper  French  style,  with  due  disregard  to  moral  re- 
straint, and  I  thought  his  married  life  promised  to  be  very 
French  also.  He  often  boasted  to  me  what  a  terror  he  had 
been  to  certain  husbands  of  his  acquaintance ;  I  perceived  it 
would  not  now  be  difficult  to  pay  him  back  in  his  own  coin. 

The  crisis  drew  on.  No  sooner  had  the  holidays  commenced, 
than  note  of  preparation  for  some  momentous  event  sounded  all 
through  the  premises  of  Pelet ;  painters,  polishers,  and  uphol- 
sterers were  immediately  set  to  work,  and  there  was  talk  of  "  la 


168  THE  PROFESSOR. 

chambre  de  Madame,"  "  le  salon  de  Madame."  Not  deeming 
it  probable  that  the  old  duenna  at  present  graced  with  that 
title  in  our  house  had  inspired  her  son  with  such  enthusiasm  of 
filial  piety  as  to  induce  him  to  fit  up  apartments  expressly  for 
her  use,  I  concluded,  in  common  with  the  cook,  the  two  house- 
maids, and  the  kitchen-scullion,  that  a  new  and  more  juvenile 
Madame  was  destined  to  be  the  tenant  of  these  gay  chambers. 

Presently  official  announcement  of  the  coming  event  was  put 
forth.  In  another  week's  time  M.  Fra^ois  Pelet,  directeur, 
and  Mdlle.  Zoraide  Renter,  directrice,  were  to  be  joined  together 
in  the  bands  of  matrimony.  Monsieur,  in  person,  heralded  the 
fact  to  me  ;  terminating  his  communication  by  an  obliging  ex- 
pression of  his  desire  that  I  should  continue,  as  heretofore,  his 
ablest  assistant  and  most  trusted  friend,  and  a  proposition  to 
raise  my  salary  by  an  additional  two  hundred  francs  per 
annum.  I  thanked  him,  gave  no  conclusive  answer  at  the  time ; 
when  he  had  left  me,  I  threAV  off  my  blouse,  put  on  my  coat, 
and  set  out  on  a  long  walk  outside  the  Porte  de  Flandre,  in 
order,  as  I  thought,  to  cool  my  blood,  calm  my  nerves,  and 
shake  my  disarranged  ideas  into  some  order.  In  fact,  I  had  just 
received  what  was  virtually  my  dismissal.  I  could  not  conceal,  I 
did  not  desire  to  conceal  from  myself  the  conviction  that,  being 
now  certain  that  Mdlle.  Reuter  was  destined  to  become  Madame 
Pelet,  it  would  not  do  for  me  to  remain  a  dependent  dweller  in 
the  house  which  was  soon  to  be  hers.  Her  present  demeanor 
towards  me  was  deficient  neither  in  dignity  nor  propriety  ;  but  I 
knew  her  former  feeling  was  unchanged.  Decorum  now  repressed, 
and  policy  masked  it,  but  opportunity  would  be  too  strong  for 
either  of  these — temptation  would  shiver  their  restraints. 

I  was  no  pope — I  could  not  boast  infallibilty  ;  in  short,  if  I 
stayed,  the  probability  was  that  in  three  months'  time,  a  prac- 
tical modern  French  novel  would  be  in  full  process  of  concoc- 
tion under  the  roof  of  the  unsuspecting  Pelet.  Now,  modern 
French  novels  are  not  to  my  taste,  either  practically  or  theo- 
retically. Limited  as  had  yet  been  my  experience  of  life,  I  had 
once  had  the  opportunity  of  contemplating,  near  at  hand,  an 
example  of  the  results  produced  by  a  course  of  interesting  and 
romantic  domestic  treachery.  No  golden  halo  of  fiction  was 
about  this  example ;  I  saw  it  bare  and  real,  and  it  was  very 


THE  PROFESSOR.  169 

loathsome.  I  saw  a  mind  degraded  by  the  practice  of  mean 
subterfuge,  by  the  habit  of  perfidious  deception,  and  a  body  de- 
praved by  the  infectious  influence  of  the  vice-polluted  soul.  I 
had  suffered  much  from  the  forced  and  prolonged  view  of  this 
spectacle ;  those  sufferings  I  did  not  now  regret,  for  their  simple 
recollection  acted  as  a  most  wholesome  antidote  to  temptation. 
They  had  inscribed  on  my  reason  the  conviction  that  unlawful 
pleasure,  trenching  on  another's  rights,  is  delusive  and  enven- 
omed pleasure;  its  hollowness  disappoints  at  the  time,  its 
poison  cruelly  tortures  afterwards,  its  effects  deprave  forever. 

From  all  this  resulted  the  conclusion  that  I  must  leave 
Pelet's,  and  that  instantly.  "  But,"  said  Prudence,  "  you  know 
not  where  to  go  nor  how  to  live  ;"  and  then  the  dream  of  true 
love  came  over  me.  Frances  Henri  seemed  to  stand  at  my  side; 
her  slender  waist  to  invite  my  arm ;  her  hand  to  court  my 
hand ;  I  felt  it  was  made  to  nestle  in  mine ;  I  could  not  relin- 
quish my  right  to  it,  nor  could  I  withdraw  my  eyes  forever  from 
hers,  where  I  saw  so  much  happiness,  such  a  correspondence  of 
heart  Avith  heart,  over  whose  expression  I  had  such  influence ; 
where  I  could  kindle  bliss,  infuse  awe,  stir  deep  delight,  rouse 
sparkling  spirit,  and  sometimes  waken  pleasurable  dread.  My 
hopes  to  win  and  possess,  my  resolutions  to  work  and  rise,  rose 
in  array  against  me  ;  and  here  I  was  about  to  plunge  into  the 
gulf  of  absolute  destitution;  "  and  all  this,"  suggested  an  inward 
voice,  "  because  you  fear  an  evil  which  may  never  happen  !" 
"It  will  happen — you  know  it  will,"  answered  that  stubborn 
monitor,  Conscience.  "  Do  what  you  feel  is  right ;  obey  me, 
and  even  in  the  sloughs  of  want  I  will  plant  for  you  firm  foot- 
ing." And  then,  as  I  walked  fast  along  the  road,  there  rose 
upon  me  a  strange,  inly-felt  idea  of  some  Great  Being,  unseen, 
but  all  present,  who  in  His  beneficence  desired  only  my  wel- 
fare, and  now  watched  the  struggle  of  good  and  evil  in  my 
heart,  and  waited  to  see  whether  I  should  obey  His  voice, 
heard  in  the  whispers  of  my  conscience,  or  lend  an  ear  to  the 
sophisms  by  which  His  enemy  and  mine — the  Spirit  of  Evil — 
sought  to  lead  me  astray.  Rough  and  steep  was  the  path  indi- 
cated by  divine  suggestion ;  mossy  and  declining  the  green  way 
along  Avhich  Temptation  strewed  flowers;  but  whereas,  me- 
thought,  the  Deity  of  Love,  the  Friend  of  all  that  exists,  would 


170  THE  PROFESSOR. 

smile  well  pleased  were  I  to  gird  up  my  loins  and  address  my- 
self to  the  rude  ascent,  so,  on  the  other  hand,  each  inclination 
to  the  velvet  declivity  seemed  to  kindle  a  gleam  of  triumph  on 
the  brow  of  the  man-hating,  God-defying  demon.  Sharp  and 
short  I  turned  round ;  fast  I  retraced  my  steps ;  in  half  an  hour 
I  was  again  at  M.  Pelet's.  I  sought  him  in  his  study  ;  brief 
parley,  concise  explanation  sufficed;  my  manner  proved  that 
I  was  resolved ;  he,  perhaps,  at  heart  approved  my  decision. 
After  twenty  minutes'  conversation,  I  re-entered  my  own  room, 
self-deprived  of  the  means  of  living,  self-sentenced  to  leave  my 
present  home,  with  the  short  notice  of  a  week  in  which  to  pro- 
vide another. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

~T~\IRECTLY  as  I  closed  the  door,  I  saw  laid  on  the  table 

_1 *  two  letters;   my  thought  was,  that   they  were  notes  of 

invitation  from  the  friends  of  some  of  my  pupils ;  I  had  re- 
ceived such  marks  of  attention  occasionally,  and  with  me,  who 
had  no  friends,  correspondence  of  more  interest  was  out  of  the 
question  ;  the  postman's  arrival  had  never  yet  been  an  event 
of  interest  to  me  since  I  came  to  Brussels.  I  laid  my  hand 
carelessly  on  the  documents,  and  coldly  and  slowly  glancing  at 
them,  I  prepared  to  break  the  seals ;  my  eye  was  arrested  and 
my  hand  too ;  I  saw  what  excited  me,  as  if  I  had  found  a 
vivid  picture  where  I  expected  only  to  discover  a  blank  page : 
on  one  cover  was  an  English  post-mark ;  on  the  other,  a  lady's 
clear,  fine  autograph ;  the  last  I  opened  first : — 

"  MONSIEUR, — 

"  I  found  out  what  you  had  done  the  very  morning  after 
your  visit  to  me ;  you  might  be  sure  I  should  dust  the  china 
every  day;  and,  as  no  one  but  you  had  been  in  my  room  for  a 
week,  and  as  fairy-money  is  not  current  in  Brussels,  I  could  not 
doubt  who  left  the  twenty  francs  on  the  chimney-piece.  I 


THE  PROFESSOR.  171 

thought  I  heard  you  stir  the  vase  when  I  was  stooping  to  look 
for  your  glove  under  the  table,  and  I  wondered  you  should 
imagine  it  had  got  into  such  a  little  cup.  Now,  Monsieur,  the 
money  is  not  mine,  and  I  shall  not  keep  it ;  I  will  not  send  it 
in  this  note,  because  it  might  be  lost — besides,  it  is  heavy ;  but 
I  will  restore  it  to  you  the  first  time  I  see  you,  and  you  must 
make  no  difficulties  about  taking  it ;  because,  in  the  first  place, 
I  am  sure,  Monsieur,  you  can  understand  that  one  likes  to  pay 
one's  debts ;  that  it  is  satisfactory  to  owe  no  man  anything ;  and, 
in  the  second  place,  I  can  now  very  well  afford  to  be  honest,  as 
I  am  provided  with  a  situation.  This  last  circumstance  is, 
indeed,  the  reason  of  my  writing  to  you,  for  it  is  pleasant  to 
communicate  good  news ;  and,  in  these  days,  I  have  only  my 
master  to  whom  I  can  tell  anything. 

"A  week  ago,  Monsieur,  I  was  sent  for  by  a  Mrs.  Wharton, 
an  English  lady;  her  eldest  daughter  was  going  to  be  married, 
and  some  rich  relation  having  made  her  a  present  of  a  veil  and 
dress  in  costly  old  lace,  as  precious  they  said,  almost  as  jewels, 
but  a  little  damaged  by  time,  I  was  commissioned  to  put  them 
in  repair.  I  had  to  do  it  at  the  house ;  they  gave  me,  besides, 
some  embroidery  to  complete,  and  nearly  a  week  elapsed  before 
I  had  finished  everything.  While  I  worked,  Miss  Wharton 
often  came  into  the  room  and  sat  with  me,  and  so  did  Mrs. 
Wharton ;  they  made  me  talk  English ;  asked  how  I  learned 
to  speak  it  so  well ;  then  they  inquired  what  I  knew  besides — • 
what  books  I  had  read ;  soon  they  seemed  to  make  a  sort  of 
wonder  of  me,  considering  me  no  doubt  as  a  learned  grisette. 
One  afternoon,  Mrs.  Wharton  brought  in  a  Parisian  lady  to  test 
the  accuracy  of  my  knowledge  of  French ;  the  result  of  it  was 
that,  owing  probably  in  a  great  degree  to  the  mother's  and 
daughter's  good  humor  about  the  marriage,  which  inclined  them 
to  do  beneficent  deeds,  and  partly,  I  think,  because  they  are 
naturally  benevolent  people,  they  decided  that  the  wish  I  had 
expressed  to  do  something  more  than  mend  lace  was  a  very 
legitimate  one ;  and  the  same  day  they  took  me  in  their  carriage 
to  Mrs.  D.'s,  who  is  the  directress  of  the  first  English  school  at 
Brussels.  It  seems  she  happened  to  be  in  want  of  a  French 
lady  to  give  lessons  in  geography,  history,  grammar,  and  com- 
position, in  the  French  language.  Mrs.  Wharton  recommended 


172  THE  PROFESSOR. 

me  very  warmly ;  and,  as  two  of  her  younger  daughters  are 
pupils  in  the  house,  her  patronage  availed  to  get  me  the  place. 
It  was  settled  that  I  am  to  attend  six  hours  daily  (for,  happily, 
it  was  not  required  that  I  should  live  in  the  house ;  I  should 
have  been  sorry  to  leave  my  lodgings),  and  for  this  Mrs.  .D. 
will  give  me  twelve  hundred  francs  per  annum.  - 

"  You  see,  therefore,  Monsieur,  that  I  am  now  rich — richer 
almost  thau  I  ever  hoped  to  be ;  I  feel  thankful  for  it,  especially 
as  my  sight  was  beginning  to  be  injured  by  constant  working  at 
fine  lace ;  and  I  was  getting,  too,  very  weary  of  sitting  up  late 
at  nights,  and  yet  not  being  able  to  find  time  for  reading  or 
study.  I  began  to  fear  that  I  should  fall  ill,  and  be  unable  to 
pay  my  way ;  this  fear  is  now,  in  a  great  measure,  removed ;  and, 
in  truth,  Monsieur,  I  am  very  grateful  to  God  for  the  relief;  and 
I  feel  it  necessary,  almost,  to  speak  of  my  happiness  to  some  one 
who  is  kind-hearted  enough  to  derive  joy  from  seeing  others 
joyful.  I  could  not,  therefore,  resist  the  temptation  of  writing 
to  you  ;  I  argued  with  myself  it  is  very  pleasant  for  me  to  write, 
and  it  will  not  be  exactly  painful,  though  it  may  be  tiresome  to 
Monsieur  to  read.  Do  not  be  too  angry  with  my  circumlocu- 
tion and  inelegancies  of  expression,  and  believe  me 

"  Your  attached  pupil, 

"F.  E.  HENRI." 

Having  read  this  letter,  I  mused  on  its  contents  for  a  few 
moments — whether  with  sentiments  pleasurable  or  otherwise  I 
will  hereafter  note — and  then  took  up  the  other.  It  was  directed 
in  a  hand  to  me  unknown — small,  and  rather  neat ;  neither  mas- 
culine nor  exactly  feminine ;  the  seal  bore  a  coat  of  arms,  con- 
cerning which  I  could  only  decipher  that  it  was  not  that  of  the 
Seacombe  family,  consequently  the  epistle  could  be  from  none 
of  my  almost  forgotten,  and  certainly  quite  forgetting,  patrician 
relations.  From  whom,  then,  was  it?  I  removed  the  envelope; 
the  note  folded  within  ran  as  follows : 

"  I  have  no  doubt  in  the  world  that  you  are  doing  well  in  that 
greasy  Flanders ;  living  probably  on  the  fat  of  the  unctuous 
land ;  sitting  like  a  black-haired,  tawny-skinned,  long-nosed 
Israelite  by  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt ;  or  like  a  rascally  son  of 


THE  PROFESSOR.  173 

Lcvi  near  the  brass  caldrons  of  the  sanctuary,  and  every  now 
and  then  plunging  in  a  consecrated  hook  and  drawing  out  of 
the  sea  of  broth  the  fattest  of  heave-shoulders  and  the  fleshiest 
of  wave-breasts.  I  know  this,  because  you  never  write  to  any 
one  in  England.  Thankless  dog  that  you  are !  I,  by  the  sove- 
reign efficacy  of  my  recommendation,  got  you  the  place  where 
you  are  now  living  in  clover,  and  yet  not  a  word  of  gratitude, 
or  even  acknowledgment,  have  you  ever  offered  in  return ;  but  I 
am  coming  to  see  you,  and  small  conception  can  you,  with  your 
addled  aristocratic  brains,  form  of  the  sort  of  moral  kicking  I 
have  ready  packed  in  my  carpet-bag,  destined  to  be  presented 
to  you  immediately  on  my  arrival. 

"  Meantime  I  know  all  about  your  affairs,  and  have  just  got 
information,  by  Brown's  last  letter,  that  you  are  said  to  be  on 
the  point  of  forming  an  advantageous  match  with  a  pursy  little 
Belgian  schoolmistress — a  Mdlle.  Zenobie,  or  some  such  name. 
Won't  I  have  a  look  at  her  when  I  come  over  ?  And  this  you 
may  rely  on :  if  she  pleases  my  taste,  or  if  I  think  it  worth 
while  in  a  pecuniary  point  of  view,  I'll  pounce  on  your  prize 
and  bear  her  away  triumphant  in  spite  of  your  teeth.  Yet  I 
don't  like  dumpies  either,  and  Brown  says  she  is  little  and 
stout — the  better  fitted  for  a  wiry,  starved-looking  chap  like 
you. 

"  Be  on  the  look-out,  for  you  know  neither  the  day  nor  hour 

when  your (I  don't  wish  to  blaspheme,  so   I'll   leave  a 

blank) — cometh. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"HUNSDEN  YOEKE  HuNSDEN." 

"  Humph !"  said  I ;  and  ere  I  laid  the  letter  down,  I  again 
glanced  at  the  small,  neat  handwriting,  not  a  bit  like  that  of  a 
mercantile  man,  nor,  indeed,  of  any  man  except  Huusden  him- 
self. They  talk  of  affinities  between  the  autograph  and  the 
character ;  what  affinity  was  there  here  ?  I  recalled  the  writer's 
peculiar  face  and  certain  traits  I  suspected,  rather  than  knew, 
to  appertain  to  his  nature,  and  I  answered,  "  A  great  deal." 

Hunsden,  then,  was  coming  to  Brussels,  and  coming  I  knew 
not  when — coming  charged  with  the  expectation  of  finding  me 
on  the  summit  of  prosperity,  about  to  be  married,  to  step  into  a 


174  THE  PROFESSOR. 

warm  nest,  to  lie  comfortably  down,  by  the  side  of  a  snug,  well- 
fed  little  mate. 

"  I  wish  him  joy  of  the  fidelity  of  the  picture  he  has  painted," 
thought  I.  "  What  will  he  say  when,  instead  of  a  pair  of  plump 
turtle-doves,  billing  and  cooing  in  a  bower  of  roses,  he  finds  a 
single  lean  cormorant,  standing  mateless  and  shelterless  on 
poverty's  bleak  cliff?  Oh,  confound  him  !  Let  him  come,  and 
let  him  laugh  at  the  contrast  between  rumor  and  fact.  "Were 
he  the  devil  himself,  instead  of  being  merely  very  like  him,  I'd 
not  condescend  to  get  out  of  his  way,  or  to  forge  a  smile  or  a 
cheerful  word  wherewith  to  avert  his  sarcasm." 

Then  I  recurred  to  the  other  letter :  that  struck  a  chord 
whose  sound  I  could  not  deaden  by  thrusting  my  fingers  into 
my  ears,  for  it  vibrated  within ;  and  though  its  swell  might  be 
exquisite  music,  its  cadence  was  a  groan. 

That  Frances  was  relieved  from  the  pressure  of  want,  that 
the  curse  of  excessive  labor  was  taken  off  her,  filled  me  with 
happiness ;  that  her  first  thought  in  prosperity  should  be  to 
augment  her  joy  by  sharing  it  with  me,  met  and  satisfied  the 
wish  of  my  heart.  Two  results  of  her  letter  were  then  pleas- 
ant, sweet  as  two  draughts  of  nectar ;  but  applying  my  lips  for 
the  third  time  to  the  cup,  and  they  were  excoriated  as  with 
vinegar  and  gall. 

Two  persons  whose  desires  are  moderate  may  live  well  enough 
in  Brussels  on  an  income  which  would  scarcely  afford  a  respect- 
able maintenance  for  one  in  London:  and  that,  not  because  the 
necessaries  of  life  are  so  much  dearer  in  the  latter  capital,  or 
taxes  so  much  higher  than  in  the  former,  but  because  the  Eng- 
lish surpass  in  folly  all  the  nations  on  God's  earth,  and  are 
more  abject  slaves  to  custom,  to  opinion,  to  the  desire  to  keep 
up  a  certain  appearance,  than  the  Italians  are  to  priestcraft,  the 
French  to  vainglory,  the  Russians  to  their  Czar,  or  the  Ger- 
mans to  black  beer.  I  have  seen  a  degree  of  sense  in  the 
modest  arrangement  of  one  homely  Belgian  household,  that 
might  put  to  shame  the  elegance,  the  superfluities,  the  luxuries, 
the  strained  refinements  of  a  hundred  genteel  English  mansions. 
In  Belgium,  provided  you  can  make  money,  you  may  save  it ; 
this  is  scarcely  possible  in  England  ;  ostentation  there  lavishes 
in  a  month  what  industry  has  earned  in  a  year.  More  shame 


THE  PR  OFESSOR.  175 

to  all  classes  in  that  most  bountiful  and  beggarly  country  for 
their  servile  following  of  Fashion ;  I  could  \vrite  a  chapter  or 
two  on  this  subject,  but  must  forbear,  at  least  for  the  present. 
Had  I  retained  my  sixty  pounds  per  annum,  I  could,  now  that 
Frances  was  in  possession  of  fifty  pounds,  have  gone  straight  to 
her  this  very  evening,  and  spoken  out  the  words  which,  re- 
pressed, kept  fretting  my  heart  with  fever ;  our  united  income 
would,  as  we  should  have  managed  it,  have  sufficed  well  for  our 
mutual  support ;  since  we  lived  in  a  country  where  economy 
was  not  confounded  with  meanness,  where  frugality  in  dress, 
food,  and  furniture,  was  not  synonymous  with  vulgarity  in  these 
various  points.  But  the  placeless  usher,  bare  of  resource,  and 
unsupported  by  connections,  must  not  think  of  this;  such  a 
sentiment  as  love,  such  a  word  as  marriage,  were  misplaced  in 
his  heart,  and  on  his  lips.  Now  for  the  first  time  did  I  truly 
feel  what  it  was  to  be  poor  ;  now  did  the  sacrifice  I  had  made 
in  casting  from  me  the  means  of  living  put  on  a  new  aspect ; 
instead  of  a  correct,  just,  honorable  act,  it  seemed  a  deed  at  once 
light  and  fanatical ;  I  took  several  turns  in  my  room,  under  the 
goading  influence  of  most  poignant  remorse ;  I  walked  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  from  the  wall  to  the  window ;  and  at  the  window, 
self-reproach  seemed  to  face  me :  at  the  wall,  self-disdain ;  all 
at  once  out  spoke  Conscience : — 

"  Down,  stupid  tormentors !"  cried  she ;  "  the  man  has  done 
his  duty ;  you  shall  not  bait  him  thus  by  thoughts  of  what 
might  have  been ;  he  relinquished  a  temporary  and  contingent 
good  to  avoid  a  permanent  and  certain  evil ;  he  did  well.  Let 
him  reflect  now,  and  when  your  blinding  dust  and  deafening 
hum  subside,  he  will  discover  a  path." 

I  sat  down  ;  I  propped  my  forehead  on  both  my  hands ;  I 
thought  and  thought  an  hour — twos  hours ;  vainly.  I  seemed 
like  one  sealed  in  a  subterranean  vault,  who  gazes  at  utter 
blackness — at  blackness  ensured  by  yard-thick  stone  walls 
around,  and  by  piles  of  building  above,  expecting  light  to  pene- 
trate through  granite,  and  through  cement  firm  as  granite.  But 
there  are  chinks,  or  there  may  be  chinks,  in  the  best  adjusted 
masonry ;  there  was  a  chink  in  my  cavernous  cell ;  for,  eventu- 
ally, I  saw,  or  seemed  to  see,  a  ray — pallid,  indeed,  and  cold, 
and  doubtful,  but  still  a  ray,  for  it  showed  that  narrow  path 


176  THE  PROFESSOR. 

which  Conscience  had  promised.  After  two,  three  hours'  tortur- 
ing research  in  brain  and  memory,  I  disinterred  certain  remains 
of  circumstances,  and  conceived  a  hope  that  by  putting  them 
together  an  expedient  might  be  framed,  and  a  resource  discov- 
ered. The  circumstances  were  briefly  these : — 

Some  three  months  ago  M.  Pelet  had,  on  the  occasion  of  his 
fete,  given  the  boys  a  treat,  which  treat  consisted  in  a  party  of 
pleasure  to  a  certain  place  of  public  resort  in  the  outskirts  of 
Brussels,  of  which  I  do  not  at  this  moment  remember  the 
name,  but  near  it  were  several  of  those  lakelets  called  etangs ; 
and  there  was  one  e"tang,  larger  than  the  rest,  where  on  holidays 
people  were  accustomed  to  amuse  themselves  by  rowing  round 
it  in  little  boats.  The  boys  having  eaten  an  unlimited  quantity 
of  "  gaufres,"  and  drank  several  bottles  of  Louvaiu  beer,  amid 
the  shades  of  a  garden  made  and  provided  for  such  crams, 
petitioned  the  director  for  leave  to  take  a  row  on  the  4tang. 
Half  a  dozen  of  the  eldest  succeeded  in  obtaining  leave,  and  I 
was  commissioned  to  accompany  them  as  surveillant.  Among 
the  half-dozen  happened  to  be  a  certain  Jean  Baptiste  Vanden- 
huten,  a  most  ponderous  young  Flamand,  not  tall,  but  even 
now,  at  the  early  age  of  sixteen,  possessing  a  breadth  and  depth 
of  personal  development  truly  national.  It  chanced  that  Jean 
was  the  first  lad  to  step  into  the  boat ;  he  stumbled,  rolled  to 
one  side,  the  boat  revolted  at  his  weight  and  capsized.  Van- 
denhuten  sank  like  lead,  rose,  sank  again.  My  coat  and  waist- 
coat were  oif  in  an  instant ;  I  had  not  been  brought  up  at  Eton, 
and  boated  and  bathed  and  swam  there  ten  long  years,  for 
nothing ;  it  was  a  natural  and  easy  act  for  me  to  leap  to  the 
rescue.  The  lads  and  the  boatmen  yelled  ;  they  thought  there 
would  be  two  deaths  by  drowning  instead  of  one ;  but  as  Jean 
rose  the  third  time,  I  clutched  him  by  one  leg  and  the  collar, 
and  in  three  minutes  more  both  he  and  I  were  safely  landed.  To 
speak  heaven's  truth,  my  merit  in  the  action  was  small  indeed, 
for  I  had  run  no  risk,  and  subsequently  did  not  even  catch  cold 
from  the  wetting ;  but  when  M.  and  Madame  Vandenhuten,  of 
whom  Jean  Baptiste  was  the  sole  hope,  came  to  hear  of  the 
exploit,  they  seemed  to  think  I  had  evinced  a  bravery  and 
devotion  which  no  thanks  could  sufficiently  repay.  Madame, 
in  particular,  was  "certain  I  must  have  dearly  loved  their 


THE  PROFESSOR.  177 

sweet  son,  or  I  would  not  thus  have  hazarded  my  own  life  to 
save  his."  Monsieur,  an  honest-looking,  though  phlegmatic 
man,  said  very  little,  but  he  would  not  suffer  me  to  leave  the 
room  till  I  had  promised  that  in  case  I  ever  stood  in  need  of 
help  I  would,  by  applying  to  him,  give  him  a  chance  of  dis- 
charging the  obligation  under  which  he  affirmed  I  had  laid 
him.  These  words,  then,  were  my  glimmer  of  light;  it  was 
here  I  found  my  sole  outlet:  and  in  truth,  though  the  cold 
light  roused,  it  did  not  cheer  me,  nor  did  the  outlet  seem  such 
as  I  should  like  to  pass  through.  Right  I  had  none  to  M.  Van- 
denhuten's  good  offices ;  it  was  not  on  the  ground  of  merit  I 
could  apply  to  him ;  no,  I  must  stand  on  that  of  necessity.  I 
had  no  work :  I  wanted  work ;  my  best  chance  of  obtaining  it 
lay  in  securing  his  recommendation.  This  I  knew  could  be  had 
by  asking  for  it :  not  to  ask,  because  the  request  revolted  my 
pride  and  contradicted  my  habits,  would,  I  felt,  be  an  indulgence 
of  false  and  indolent  fastidiousness.  I  might  repent  the  omis- 
sion all  my  life :  I  would  not  then  be  guilty  of  it. 

That  evening  I  went  to  M.  Vandenhuten's ;  but  I  had  bent 
the  bow  and  adjusted  the  shaft  in  vain ;  the  string  broke.  I 
rang  the  bell  at  the  great  door  (it  was  a  large,  handsome  house 
in  an  expensive  part  of  the  town)  ;  a  man-servant  opened ;  I 
asked  for  M.  Vandenhuten ;  M.  Vandenhuten  and  family  were 
all  out  of  town — gone  to  Ostend — did  not  know  when  they 
would  be  back.  I  left  my  card,  and  retraced  my  steps. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A  WEEK  is  gone;  lejour  des  noees  arrived;  the  marriage 
J~\  Avas  solemnized  at  St.  Jacques' ;  Mdlle.  Zoraide  became 
Madame  Pelet,  nee  Renter ;  and  in  about  an  hour  after  this 
transformation,  "  the  happy  pair,"  as  newspapers  phrase  it,  were 
on  their  way  to  Paris,  where,  according  to  previous  arrange- 
ment, the  honeymoon  was  to  be  spent.  The  next  day  I  quitted 

12 


178  THE  PROFESSOR. 

the  pensionnat.  Myself  and  my  chattels  (some  books  and 
clothes)  were  soon  transferred  to  a  modest  lodging  I  had  hired 
in  a  street  not  far  off.  In  half  an  hour  my  clothes  were 
arranged  in  a  commode,  my  books  on  a  shelf,  and  the  "  flitting" 
was  effected.  I  should  not  have  been  unhappy  that  day  had 
not  one  pang  tortured  me — a  longing  to  go  to  the  Rue  Notre 
Dame  aux  Neiges,  resisted,  yet  irritated  by  an  inward  resolve 
to  avoid  that  street  till  such  time  as  the  mist  of  doubt  should 
clear  from  my  prospects. 

It  was  a  sweet  September  evening — very  mild,  very  still ;  I 
had  nothing  to  do;  at  that  hour  I  knew  Frances  would  be 
equally  released  from  occupation ;  I  thought  she  might  possibly 
be  wishing  for  her  master — I  knew  I  wished  for  my  pupil. 
Imagination  began  with  her  low  whispers,  infusing  into  my  soul 
the  soft  tale  of  pleasures  that  might  be. 

"  You  will  find  her  reading  or  writing,"  said  she ;  "  you  can 
take  your  seat  at  her  side ;  you  need  not  startle  her  peace  by 
undue  excitement;  you  need  not  embarrass  her  manner  by 
unusual  action  or  language.  Be  as  you  always  are  ;  look  over 
what  she  has  written ;  listen  while  she  reads ;  chide  her,  or 
quietly  approve ;  you  know  the  effect  of  either  system ;  you 
know  her  smile  when  pleased,  you  know  the  play  of  her  looks 
when  roused ;  you  have  the  secret  of  awakening  what  expres- 
sion you  will,  and  you  can  choose  amongst  that  pleasant  variety. 
With  you  she  will  sit  silent  as  long  as  it  suits  you  to  talk  alone. 
You  can  hold  her  under  a  potent  spell ;  intelligent  as  she  is, 
eloquent  as  she  can  be,  you  can  seal  her  lips,  and  veil  her 
bright  countenance  with  diffidence ;  yet,  you  know,  she  is  not 
all  monotonous  mildness ;  you  have  seen  with  a  sort  of  strange 
pleasure,  revolt,  scorn,  austerity,-  bitterness,  lay  energetic  claim 
to  a  place  in  her  feelings  and  physiognomy ;  you  know  that  few 
can  rule  her  as  you  do ;  you  know  she  might  break,  but  never 
bend  under  the  hand  of  tyranny  and  injustice,  but  reason 
and  affection  can  guide  her  by  a  sign.  Try  their  influence 
now.  Go — they  are  not  passions;  you  may  handle  them 
safely." 

"  I  will  not  go,"  was  my  answer  to  the  sweet  temptress.  "  A 
man  is  master  of  himself  to  a  certain  point,  but  not  beyond  it. 
Could  I  seek  Frances  to-night,  could  I  sit  with  her  alone  in  a 


THE  PROFESSOR.  179 

quiet  room,  and  address  her  only  in  the  language  of  reason  and 
affection  ?" 

"  No,"  was  the  brief,  fervent  reply  of  that  love  which  had 
conquered  and  now  controlled  me. 

Time  seemed  to  stagnate ;  the  sun  would  not  go  down ;  my 
watch  ticked,  but  I  thought  the  hands  were  paralyzed. 

"  What  a  hot  evening !"  I  cried,  throwing  open  the  lattice ; 
for,  indeed,  I  had  seldom  felt  so  feverish.  Hearing  a  step 
ascending  the  common  stair,  I  wondered  whether  the  "  locataire," 
now  mounting  to  his  apartments,  were  as  unsettled  in  mind  and 
condition  as  I  was,  or  whether  he  lived  in  the  calm  of  certain 
resources,  and  in  the  freedom  of  unfettered  feelings.  What ! 
was  he  coming  in  person  to  solve  the  problem  hardly  proposed 
in  inaudible  thought  ?  He  had  actually  knocked  at  the  door — 
at  my  door ;  a  smart  prompt  rap ;  and  almost  before  I  could 
invite  him  in,  he  was  over  the  threshold,  and  had  closed  the 
door  behind  him. 

"  And  how  are  you  ?"  asked  an  indifferent,  quiet  voice,  in  the 
English  language ;  while  my  visitor,  without  any  sort  of  bustle 
or  introduction,  put  his  hat  on  the  table,  and  his  gloves  into  his 
hat,  and  drawing  the  only  arm-chair  the  room  afforded  a  little 
forward,  seated  himself  tranquilly  therein. 

"  Can't  you  speak  ?"  he  inquired  in  a  few  moments,  in  a  tone 
whose  nonchalance  seemed  to  intimate  that  it  was  much  the 
same  thing  whether  I  answered  or  not.  The  fact  is,  I  found  it 
desirable  to  have  recourse  to  my  good  friends  "  les  besides  ;" 
not  exactly  to  ascertain  the  identity  of  my  visitor — for  I  already 
knew  him,  confound  his  impudence !  but  to  see  how  he  looked — 
to  get  a  clear  notion  of  his  mien  and  countenance.  I  wiped  the 
glasses  very  deliberately,  and  put  them  on  quite  as  deliberately, 
adjusting  them  so  as  not  to  hurt  the  bridge  of  my  nose  or  get 
entangled  in  my  short  tufts  of  dun  hair.  I  was  sitting  in  the 
window-seat,  with  my  back  to  the  light,  and  I  had  him  vis-ct- 
vis — a  position  he  would  much  rather  have  had  reversed,  for,  at 
any  time,  he  preferred  scrutinizing  to  being  scrutinized.  Yes,  it 
was  he,  and  no  mistake,  with  his  six  feet  of  length  arranged  in 
a  sitting  attitude ;  with  his  dark  travelling  surtout  with  its  vel- 
vet collar,  his  gray  pantaloons,  his  black  stock,  and  his  face — 
the  most  original  one  Nature  ever  modelled,  yet  the  least 


180  THE  PROFESSOR. 

obtrusively  so :  not  one  feature  that  could  be  termed  marked  or 
odd,  yet  the  effect  of  the  whole  unique.  There  is  no  use  in 
attempting  to  describe  what  is  indescribable.  Being  in  no 
hurry  to  address  him,  I  sat  and  stared  at  my  ease. 

"  Oh  !  that's  your  game,  is  it?"  said  he  at  last.  "Well,  we'll 
see  which  is  soonest  tired." 

And  he  slowly  drew  out  a  fine  cigar  case,  picked  one  to  his 
taste,  lit  it,  took  a  book  from  the  shelf  convenient  to  his  hand, 
then  leaning  back,  proceeded  to  smoke  and  read  as  tranquilly 

as  if  he  had  been  in  his  own  room,  in  Grove  street,  X shire, 

England.  I  knew  he  was  capable  of  continuing  in  that  attitude 
till  midnight,  if  he  conceived  the  whim,  so  I  rose,  and  taking 
the  book  from  his  hand,  I  said,  "  You  did  not  ask  for  it,  and 
you  shall  not  have  it." 

"It  is  silly  and  dull,"  he  observed,  "so  I  have  not  lost 
much ;"  then,  the  spell  being  broken,  he  went  on : — "  I  thought 
you  lived  at  Pelet's ;  I  went  there  this  afternoon,  expecting  to 
be  starved  to  death  by  sitting  in  a  boarding-school  drawing- 
room,  and  they  told  me  you  were  gone,  had  departed  this  morn- 
ing ;  you  had  left  your  address  behind  you,  though,  which  I 
wondered  at ;  it  was  a  more  practical  and  sensible  precaution 
than  I  should  have  imagined  you  capable  of.  Why  did  you 
leave?" 

"  Because  M.  Pelet  has  just  married  the  lady  whom  you  and 
Mr.  Brown  assigned  to  me  as  my  wife." 

"  Oh,  indeed !"  replied  Hunsden,  with  a  short  laugh ;  "  so 
you've  lost  both  your  wife  and  your  place  ?" 

"  Precisely  so." 

I  saw  him  give  a  quick,  covert  glance  all  round  my  room ; 
he  marked  its  narrow  limits,  its  scanty  furniture.  In  an  instant 
he  had  comprehended  the  state  of  matters — had  absolved  me 
from  the  crime  of  prosperity.  A  curious  effect  this  discovery 
Avrought  in  his  strange  mind ;  I  am  morally  certain  that  if  he 
had  found  me  installed  in  a  handsome  parlor,  lounging  on  a 
soft  couch,  with  a  pretty,  wealthy  wife  at  my  side,  he  would 
have  hated  me ;  a  brief,  cold,  haughty  visit  would  in  such  case 
have  been  the  extreme  limit  of  his  civilities,  and  never  would  he 
have  come  near  me  more,  so  long  as  the  tide  of  fortune  bore  me 
smoothly  on  its  surface ;  but  the  painted  furniture,  the  bare 


THE  PROFESSOR.  181 

walls,  the  cheerless  solitude  of  my  room,  relaxed  his  rigid  pride, 
and  I  know  not  what  softening  change  had  taken  place,  both  in 
his  voice  and  look,  ere  he  spoke  again. 

"  You  have  got  another  place  ?" 

"  No." 

"  You  are  in  the  way  of  getting  one  ?" 

"  No." 

"  That  is  bad  ;  have  you  applied  to  Brown  ?" 

"  No,  indeed." 

"  You  had  better ;  he  often  has  it  in  his  power  to  give  useful 
information  in  such  matters." 

"  He  served  me  once  very  well ;  I  have  no  claim  on  him,  and 
am  not  in  the  humor  to  bother  him  again." 

"  Oh,  if  you're  bashful,  and  dread  being  intrusive,  you  need 
only  commission  me.  I  shall  see  him  to-night ;  I  can  put  in  a 
word." 

"I  beg  you  will  not,  Mr.  Hunsden;  I  am  in  your  debt 
already ;  you  did  me  an  important  service  when  I  was  at 

X ;  got  me  out  of  a  den  where  I  was  dying.     That  service 

I  have  never  repaid,  and  at  present  I  decline  positively  adding 
another  item  to  the  account." 

"  If  the  wind  sets  that  way,  I'm  satisfied.  I  thought  my  un- 
exampled generosity  in  turning  you  out  of  that  accursed  count- 
ing-house would  be  duly  appreciated  some  day :  '  Cast  your 
bread  on  the  waters,  and  it  shall  be  found  after  many  days,'  say 
the  Scriptures.  Yes,  that's  right,  lad — make  much  of  me — I'm 
a  nonpareil :  there's  nothing  like  me  in  the  common  herd.  In 
the  meantime,  to  put  all  humbug  aside  and  talk  sense  for  a  few 
moments,  you  would  be  greatly  the  better  of  a  situation,  and 
what  is  more,  you  are  a  fool  if  you  refuse  to  take  one  from  any 
hand  that  offers  it." 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Hunsden  ;  now  you  have  settled  that  point, 
talk  of  something  else.  What  news  from  X ?" 

"  I  have  not  settled  that  point,  or  at  least  there  is  another  to 

settle    before   we    get    to    X .      Is    this    Miss    Zenobie" 

("  Zoraide,"  interposed  I) — "  well,  Zora'ide — is  she  really  mar- 
ried to  Pelet  ?" 

"  I  tell  you  yes — and  if  you  don't  believe  me,  go  and  ask  the 
cure  of  St.  Jacques." 


182  THE  PROFESSOR. 

"  And  your  heart  is  broken  ?" 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  it  is  ;  it  feels  all  right — beats  as  usual." 

"  Then  your  feelings  are  less  superfine  than  I  took  them  to 
be ;  you  must  be  a  coarse,  callous  character,  to  bear  such  a 
thwack  without  staggering  under  it." 

"  Staggering  under  it  ?  What  the  deuce  is  there  to  stagger 
under  in  the  circumstance  of  a  Belgian  schoolmistress  marrying 
a  French  schoolmaster?  The  progeny  will  doubtless  be  a 
strange  hybrid  race ;  but  that's  their  look  out — not  mine." 

"  He  indulges  iu  scurrilous  jests,  and  the  bride  was  his 
affianced  one !" 

"  Who  said  so  ?" 

"  Brown." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Hunsden — Brown  is  an  old  gossip." 

"  He  is ;  but  in  the  meantime,  if  his  gossip  be  founded  on 
less  than  fact — if  you  took  no  particular  interest  in  Miss 
Zoraide — why,  O  youthful  pedagogue !  did  you  leave  your  place 
in  consequence  of  her  becoming  Madame  Pelet  ?" 

"  Because — "  I  felt  my  face  grow  a  little  hot :  "  because — in 
short,  Mr.  Hunsden,  I  decline  answering  any  more  questions," 
and  I  plunged  my  hands  deep  in  my  breeches-pockets. 

Hunsden  triumphed :  his  eyes — his  laugh  announced  victory. 

"  What  the  deuce  are  you  laughing  at,  Mr.  Hunsden  ?" 

"At  your  exemplary  composure.  Well,  lad,  I'll  not  bore 
you.  I  see  how  it  is  :  Zoraide  has  jilted  you — married  some  one 
richer,  as  any  sensible  woman  would  have  done  if  she  had  had 
the  chance." 

I  made  no  reply — I  let  him  think  so,  not  feeling  inclined  to 
enter  into  an  explanation  of  the  real  state  of  things,  and  as 
little  to  forge  a  false  account ;  but  it  was  not  easy  to  blind 
Hunsden  ;  my  very  silence,  instead  of  convincing  him  that  he 
had  hit  the  truth,  seemed  to  render  him  doubtful  about  it ;  he 
went  on : — 

"  I  suppose  the  affair  has  been  conducted  as  such  affairs 
always  are  amongst  rational  people ;  you  offered  her  your  youth 
and  your  talents — such  as  they  are — in  exchange  for  her  posi- 
tion and  money :  I  don't  suppose  you  took  appearance,  or  what 
is  called  love,  into  the  account — for  I  understand  she  is  older 
than  you,  and  Brown  says,  rather  sensible-looking  than  beauti- 


THE  PROFESSOR.  183 

ful.  She,  having  then  no  chance  of  making  a  better  bargain, 
was  at  first  inclined  to  come  to  terms  with  you,  but  Pelet — the 
head  of  a  flourishing  school — stepped  in  with  a  higher  bid  ;  she 
accepted,  and  he  has  got  her ;  a  correct  transaction — perfectly 
so — business-like  and  legitimate.  And  now  we'll  talk  of  some- 
thing else." 

"  Do,"  said  I,  very  glad  to  dismiss  the  topic,  and  especially 
glad  to  have  baffled  the  sagacity  of  my  cross-questioner — if, 
indeed,  I  had  baffled  it :  for  though  his  words  now  led  away 
from  the  dangerous  point,  his  eyes,  keen  and  watchful,  seemed 
still  pre-occupied  with  the  former  idea. 

"  You  want  to  hear  news  from  X ?  And  what  interest 

can  you  have  in  X ?  You  left  no  friends  there,  for  you 

made  none.  Nobody  ever  asks  after  you— neither  man  nor 
woman  ;  and  if  I  mention  your  name  in  company,  the  men  look 
as  if  I  had  spoken  of  Prester  John ;  and  the  women  sneer 
covertly.  Our  X —  -  belles  must  have  disliked  you.  How 
did  you  excite  their  displeasure  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  seldom  spoke  to  them — they  were  nothing 
to  me.  I  considered  them  only  as  something  to  be  glanced  at 
from  a  distance;  their  dresses  and  faces  were  often  pleasing 
enough  to  the  eye ;  but  I  could  not  understand  their  conver- 
sation, nor  even  read  their  countenances.  When  I  caught 
snatches  of  what  they  said,  I  could  never  make  much  of  it ;  and 
the  play  of  their  lips  and  eyes  did  not  help  me  at  all." 

"  That  was  your  fault,  not  theirs.  There  are  sensible  as  well 

as  handsome  women  in  X ;  women  it  is  worth  any  man's 

while  to  talk  to,  and  with  whom  I  can  talk  with  pleasure ;  but 
you  had  and  have  no  pleasant  address ;  there  is  nothing  in  you 
to  induce  a  woman  to  be  affable.  I  have  remarked  you  sitting 
near  the  door  in  a  room  full  of  company,  bent  on  hearing,  not 
on  speaking ;  on  observing,  not  on  entertaining  ;  looking  frigidly 
shy  at  the  commencement  of  a  party,  confusingly  vigilant  about 
the  middle,  and  insultingly  weary  towards  the  end.  Is  that  the 
way,  do  you  think,  ever  to  communicate  pleasure  or  excite  in- 
terest ?  No ;  and  if  you  are  generally  unpopular,  it  is  because 
you  deserve  to  be  so." 

"  Content !"  I  ejaculated. 

"  No,  you  are  not  content ;  you  see  beauty  always  turning  its 


184  THE  PROFESSOR. 

back  on  you ;  you  are  mortified,  and  then  you  sneer.  I  verily 
believe  all  that  is  desirable  on  earth — wealth,  reputation,  love — 
will  forever  to  you  be  the  ripe  grapes  on  the  high  trellis ;  you'll 
look  up  at  them;  they  will  tantalize  in  you  the  lust  of  the  eye; 
but  they  are  out  of  reach ;  you  have  not  the  address  to  fetch  a 
ladder,  and  you'll  go  away  calling  them  sour." 

Cutting  as  these  words  might  have  been  under  some  circum- 
stances, they  drew  no  blood  now.     My  life  was  changed ;  my 

experience  had  been  varied  since  I  left  X ,  but  Hunsden 

could  not  know  this ;  he  had  seen  me  only  in  the  character  of 
Mr.  Crimsworth's  clerk — a  dependant  amongst  wealthy  stran- 
gers, meeting  disdain  with  a  hard  front,  conscious  of  an  unsocial 
and  unattractive  exterior,  refusing  to  sue  for  notice  which  I 
was  sure  would  be  withheld,  declining  to  evince  an  admiration 
which  I  knew  would  be  scorned  as  worthless.  He  could  not  be 
aware  that  since  then  youth  and  loveliness  had  been  to  me  every- 
day objects ;  that  I  had  studied  them  at  leisure  and  closely,  and 
had  seen  the  plain  texture  of  truth  under  the  embroidery  of  ap- 
pearance ;  nor  could  he,  keen-sighted  as  he  was,  .penetrate  into 
my  heart,  search  my  brain,  and  read  my  peculiar  sympathies 
and  antipathies ;  he  had  not  known  me  long  enough,  or  well 
enough,  to  perceive  how  low  my  feelings  would  ebb  under  some 
influences,  powerful  over  most  minds ;  how  high,  how  fast  they 
would  flow  under  other  influences,  that  perhaps  acted  with  the 
more  intense  force  on  me,  because  they  acted  on  me  alone. 
Neither  could  he  suspect  for  an  instant  the  history  of  my  com- 
munications with  Mdlle.  Renter ;  secret  to  him  and  to  all  others 
was  the  tale  of  her  strange  infatuation ;  her  blandishments,  her 
wiles,  had  been  seen  but  by  me,  and  to  me  only  were  they 
known ;  but  they  had  changed  me,  for  they  had  proved  that  I 
could  impress.  A  sweeter  secret  nestled  deeper  in  my  heart ; 
one  full  of  tenderness  and  as  full  of  strength ;  it  took  the  sting 
out  of  Hunsden's  sarcasm ;  it  kept  me  unbent  by  shame,  and  un- 
stirred by  wrath.  But  of  all  this  I  could  say  nothing — nothing 
decisive,  at  least ;  uncertainty  sealed  my  lips,  and  during  the 
interval  of  silence  by  which  alone  I  replied  to  Mr.  Hunsden,  I 
.made  up  my  mind  to  be  for  the  present  wholly  misjudged  by 
him,  and  misjudged  I  was ;  he  thought  he  had  been  rather  too 
hard  upon  me,  and  that  I  was  crushed  by  the  weight  of  his  up- 


THE  PROFESSOR.  185 

braidings ;  so  to  re-assure  me  he  said,  doubtless  I  should  mend 
some  day ;  I  was  only  at  the  beginning  of  life  yet ;  and  since 
happily  I  was  not  quite  without  sense,  every  false  step  I  made 
would  be  a  good  lesson. 

Just  then  I  turned  my  face  a  little  to  the  light ;  the  approach 
of  twilight,  and  my  position  in  the  window-seat,  had  for  the  last 
ten  minutes  prevented  him  from  studying  my  countenance ;  as 
I  moved,  however,  he  caught  an  expression  which  he  thus 
interpreted : — 

"  Confound  it !  How  doggedly  self-approving  the  lad  looks ! 
I  thought  he  was  fit  to  die  with  shame,  and  there  he  sits,  grin- 
ning smiles,  as  good  as  to  say,  '  Let  the  world  wag  as  it  will, 
I've  the  philosopher's  stone  in  my  waistcoat  pocket,  and  the 
elixir  of  life  in  my  cupboard  ;  I'm  independent  of  both  Fate  and 
Fortune !' " 

"  Hunsden — you  spoke  of  grapes  ;  I  was  thinking  of  a  fruit  I 

like  better  than  your  X hot-house  grapes — an  unique  fruit 

growing  wild,  which  I  have  marked  as  my  own,  and  hope  one 
day  to  gather  and  taste.  It  is  of  no  use  your  offering  me  the 
draught  of  bitterness,  or  threatening  me  with  death  by  thirst ;  I 
have  the  anticipation  of  sweetness  on  my  palate ;  the  hope  of 
freshness  on  my  lips ;  I  can  reject  the  unsavory  and  endure  the 
exhausting." 

"For  how  long?" 

"  Till  the  next  opportunity  for  effort ;  and  as  the  prize  of 
success  will  be  a  treasure  after  my  own  heart,  I'll  bring  a  bull's 
strength  to  the  struggle." 

"  Bad  luck  crushes  bulls  as  easily  as  bullaces ;  and,  I  believe, 
the  fury  dogs  you  :  you  were  born  with  a  wooden  spoon  in  your 
mouth,  depend  on  it." 

"  I  believe  you ;  and  I  mean  to  make  my  wooden  spoon  do 
the  work  of  some  people's  silver  ladles:  grasped  firmly,  and 
handled  nimbly,  even  a  wooden  spoon  will  shovel  up  broth." 

Hunsden  rose:  "I  see,"  said  he;  "I  suppose  you're  one  of 
those  who  develop  best  unwatched,  and  act  best  unaided — work 
your  own  way.  Now  I'll  go."  And  without  another  word,  he 
was  going  ;  at  the  door  he  turned  : — 

"  Crimsworth  Hall  is  sold,"  said  he. 

"  Sold !"  was  my  echo. 


186  THE  PROFESSOR. 

"  Yes ;  you  know,  of  course,  that  your  brother  failed  three 
months  ago  ?" 

"  What !  Edward  Crimsworth  ?" 

"  Precisely ;  and  his  wife  went  home  to  her  father's ;  when 
affairs  went  awry,  his  temper  sympathized  with  them ;  he  used 
her  ill :  I  told  you  he  would  be  a  tyrant  to  her  some  day ;  as  to 
him " 

"  Ay,  as  to  him — what  is  become  of  him  ?" 

"  Nothing  extraordinary — don't  be  alarmed ;  he  put  himself 
under  the  protection  of  the  court,  compounded  with  his  credi- 
tors— tenpence  in  the  pound ;  in  six  weeks  set  up  again,  coaxed 
back  his  wife,  and  is  flourishing  like  a  green  bay-tree." 

"  And  Crimsworth  Hall — was  the  furniture  sold  too  ?" 

"Everything — from  the  grand  piano  down  to  the  rolling- 
pin." 

"And  the  contents  of  the  oak  dining-room — were  they 
sold?" 

"  Of  course ;  why  should  the  sofas  and  chairs  of  that  room 
be  held  more  sacred  than  those  of  any  other?" 

"And  the  pictures?" 

"  What  pictures  ?  Crimsworth  had  no  special  collection  that 
I  know  of — he  did  not  profess  to  be  an  amateur." 

"  There  were  two  portraits,  one  on  each  side  the  mantelpiece; 
you  cannot  have  forgotten  them,  Mr.  Hunsden ;  you  once 
noticed  that  of  the  lady " 

"  Oh,  I  know !  the  thin-faced  gentlewoman  with  a  shawl  put  on 
like  drapery.  Why,  as  a  matter  of  course,  it  would  be  sold 
among  the  other  things.  If  you  had  been  rich,  you  might  have 
bought  it,  for  I  remember  you  said  it  represented  your  mother : 
you  see  what  it  is  to  be  without  a  sou." 

I  did.  "But  surely,"  I  thought  to  myself,  "I  shall  not 
always  be  so  poverty-stricken  ;  I  may  one  day  buy  it  back  yet." 
"  Who  purchased  it,  do  you  know  ?"  I  asked. 

"  How  is  it  likely  ?  I  never  inquired  who  purchased  any- 
thing; there  spoke  the  unpractical  man — to  imagine  all  the 
world  is  interested  in  what  interests  himself!  Now,  good-night. 
I'm  off  for  Germany  to-morrow  morning ;  I  shall  be  back  here 
in  six  weeks,  and  possibly  I  may  call  and  see  you  again ;  I 
wonder  whether  you'll  be  still  out  of  place !"  he  laughed,  as 


THE  PROFESSOR.  187 

mockingly,  as  heartlessly  as  Mephistopheles,  and  so  laughing, 
vanished. 

Some  people,  however  indifferent  they  may  become  after  a 
considerable  space  of  absence,  always  contrive  to  leave  a 
pleasant  impression  just  at  parting ;  not  so  Hunsden ;  a  confer- 
ence with  him  affected  one  like  a  draught  of  Peruvian  bark ;  it 
seemed  a  concentration  of  the  specially  harsh,  stringent,  bitter ; 
whether,  like  bark,  it  invigorated,  I  scarcely  knew. 

A  ruffled  mind  makes  a  restless  pillow ;  I  slept  little  on  the 
night  after  this  interview ;  towards  morning  I  began  to  doze, 
but  hardly  had  my  slumber  become  sleep,  when  I  was  roused 
from  it  by  hearing  a  noise  in  my  sitting-room,  to  which  my 
bed-room  adjoined — a  step,  and  a  shoving  of  furniture;  the 
movement  lasted  barely  two  minutes ;  with  the  closing  of  the 
door  it  ceased.  I  listened  ;  not  a  mouse  stirred ;  perhaps  I  had 
dreamt  it ;  perhaps  a  locataire  had  made  a  mistake,  and  entered 
my  apartment  instead  of  his  own.  It  was  yet  but  five  o'clock ; 
neither  I  nor  the  day  were  wide  awake;  I  turned,  and  was 
soon  unconscious.  When  I  did  rise,  about  two  hours  later,  I 
had  forgotten  the  circumstance ;  the  first  thing  I  saw,  however, 
on  quitting  my  chamber,  recalled  it ;  just  pushed  in  at  the  door 
of  my  sitting-room,  and  still  standing  on  end,  was  a  wooden 
packing-case — a  rough  deal  affair,  wide  but  shallow ;  a  porter 
had  doubtless  shoved  it  forward,  but  seeing  no  occupant  of  the 
room,  had  left  it  at  the  entrance. 

"  That  is  none  of  mine,"  thought  I,  approaching ;  "  it  must  be 
meant  for  somebody  else."  I  stooped  to  examine  the  address : — 

"  William  Crimsworth,  Esq.,  No. Street,  Brussels." 

I  was  puzzled,  but  concluding  that  the  best  way  to  obtain  in- 
formation was  to  ask  within,  I  cut  the  cords  and  opened  the 
case.  Green  baize  enveloped  its  contents,  sewn  carefully  at  the 
sides ;  I  ripped  the  packthread  with  my  penknife,  and  still  as 
the  seam  gave  way,  glimpses  of  gilding  appeared  through  the 
widening  interstices.  Boards  and  baize  being  at  length  re- 
moved, I  lifted  from  the  case  a  large  picture,  in  a  magnificent 
frame.  Leaning  it  against  a  chair,  in  a  position  where  the 
light  from  the  window  fell  favorably  upon  it,  I  stepped  back  : 
already  I  had  mounted  my  spectacles.  A  portrait-painter's  sky 
(the  most  sombre  and  threatening  of  welkins),  and  distant  trees 


188  THE  PROFESSOR. 

of  a  conventional  depth  of  hue,  raised  in  full  relief  a  pale,  pen- 
sive-looking female  face,  shadowed  with  soft  dark  hair,  almost 
blending  with  the  equally  dark  clouds;  large  solemn  eyes 
looked  reflectively  into  mine ;  a  thin  cheek  rested  on  a  delicate 
little  hand ;  a  shawl,  artistically  draped,  half  hid,  half  showed 
a  slight  figure.  A  listener  (had  there  been  one)  might  have 
heard  me,  after  ten  minutes'  silent  gazing,  utter  the  word 
"  Mother !"  I  might  have  said  more — but  with  me,  the  first 
word  uttered  aloud  in  soliloquy  rouses  consciousness ;  it  reminds 
me  that  only  crazy  people  talk  to  themselves,  and  then  I  think 
out  my  monologue,  instead  of  speaking  it.  I  had  thought  a 
long  while,  and  a  long  while  had  contemplated  the  intelligence, 
the  sweetness,  and — alas !  the  sadness  also  of  those  fine  gray 
eyes,  the  mental  power  of  that  forehead,  and  the  rare  sensibility 
of  that  serious  mouth,  when  my  glance,  travelling  downwards, 
fell  on  a  narrow  billet,  stuck  in  the  corner  of  the  picture,  between 
the  frame  and  the  canvas.  Then  I  first  asked,  "  Who  sent  this 
picture  ?  Who  thought  of  me,  saved  it  out  of  the  wreck  of 
Crimsworth  Hall,  and  now  commits  it  to  the  care  of  its  natural 
keeper  ?"  I  took  the  note  from  its  niche ;  thus  it  spoke : — 

"  There  is  a  sort  of  stupid  pleasure  in  giving  a  child  sweets,  a 
fool  his  bells,  a  dog  a  bone.  You  are  repaid  by  seeing  the 
child  besmear  his  face  with  sugar ;  by  witnessing  how  the  fool's 
ecstasy  makes  a  greater  fool  of  him  than  ever  ;  by  watching  the 
dog's  nature  come  out  over  his  bone.  In  giving  William 
Crimsworth  his  mother's  picture,  I  give  him  sweets,  bells,  and 
bone  all  in  one ;  what  grieves  me  is,  that  I  cannot  behold  the 
result :  I  would  have  added  five  shillings  more  to  my  bid  if  the 
auctioneer  only  could  have  promised  me  that  pleasure. 

"H.  Y.  H. 

"  P.  S. — You  said  last  night  you  positively  declined  adding 
another  item  to  your  account  with  me ;  don't  you  think  I've 
saved  you  that  trouble  ?" 

I  muffied  the  picture  in  its  green  baize  covering,  restored  it 
to  the  case,  and  having  transported  the  whole  concern  to  my 
bedroom,  put  it  out  of  sight  under  my  bed.  My  pleasure  was 
now  poisoned  by  pungent  pain ;  I  determined  to  look  no  more 


THE  rROFESSOR.  189 

till  I  could  look  at  my  ease.  If  Hunsden  had  come  in  at  that 
moment,  I  should  have  said  to  him,  "  I  owe  you  nothing,  Huns- 
den — not  a  fraction  of  a  farthing :  you  have  paid  yourself  in 
taunts." 

Too  anxious  to  remain  any  longer  quiescent,  I  had  no  sooner 
breakfasted  than  I  repaired  once  more  to  M.  Vandenhuten's, 
scarcely  hoping  to  find  him  at  home,  for  a  week  had  barely 
elapsed  since  my  first  call ;  but  fancying  I  might  be  able  to 
glean  information  as  to  the  time  when  his  return  was  expected. 
A  better  result  awaited  me  than  I  had  anticipated,  for  though 
the  family  were  yet  at  Ostend,  M.  Vandenhuten  had  come  over 
to  Brussels  on  business  for  the  day.  He  received  me  with  the 
quiet  kindness  of  a  sincere  though  not  excitable  man.  I  had 
not  sat  five  minutes  alone  with  him  in  his  bureau,  before  I 
became  aware  of  a  sense  of  ease  in  his  presence,  such  as  I  rarely 
experienced  with  strangers.  I  was  surprised  at  my  own  com- 
posure, for,  after  all,  I  had  come  on  business  to  me  exceed- 
ingly painful — that  of  soliciting  a  favor.  I  asked  on  what  basis 
the  calm  rested — I  feared  it  might  be  deceptive.  Ere  long  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  ground,  and  at  once  I  felt  assured  of 
its  solidity ;  I  knew  where  I  was. 

M.  Vandenhuten  was  rich,  respected,  and  influential ;  I,  poor, 
despised,  and  powerless  ;  so  we  stood  to  the  world  at  large  as 
members  of  the  world's  society  ;  but  to  each  other,  as  a  pair  of 
human  beings,  our  positions  were  reversed.  The  Dutchman 
(he  was  not  Flamand,  but  pure  Hollandais)  was  slow,  cool,  of 
rather  dense  intelligence,  though  sound  and  accurate  judgment; 
the  Englishman  far  more  nervous,  active,  quicker  both  to  plan 
and  to  practise,  to  conceive  and  to  realize.  The  Dutchman 
was  benevolent,  the  Englishman  susceptible  ;  in  short,  our  char- 
acters dovetailed,  but  my  mind  having  more  fire  and  action  than 
his,  instinctively  assumed  and  kept  the  predominance. 

This  point  settled,  and  my  position  well  ascertained,  I  ad- 
dressed him  on  the  subject  of  my  affairs  with  that  genuine 
frankness  which  full  confidence  can  alone  inspire.  It  was  a 
pleasure  to  him  to  be  so  appealed  to  ;  he  thanked  me  for  giving 
him  this  opportunity  of  using  a  little  exertion  in  my  behalf.  I 
went  on  to  explain  to  him  that  my  wish  was  not  so  much  to  be 
helped,  as  to  be  put  into  the  way  of  helping  myself;  of  him  I 


190  THE  PROFESSOR. 

did  not  want  exertion — that  was  to  be  my  part — but  only  infor- 
mation and  recommendation.  Soon  after  I  rose  to  go.  He  held 
out  his  hand  at  parting — an  action  of  greater  significance  with 
foreigners  than  with  Englishmen.  As  I  exchanged  a  smile  with 
him,  I  thought  the  benevolence  of  his  truthful  face  was  better 
than  the  intelligence  of  my  own.  Characters  of  my  order  ex- 
perience a  balm-like  solace  in  the  contact  of  such  souls  as 
animated  the  honest  breast  of  Victor  Vandenhuten. 

The  next  fortnight  was  a  period  of  many  alternations ;  my 
existence  during  its  lapse  resembled  a  sky  of  one  of  those 
autumnal  nights  which  are  specially  haunted  by  meteors  and 
falling  stars.  Hopes  and  fears,  expectations  and-  disappoint- 
ments, descended  in  glancing  showers  from  zenith  to  horizon ; 
but  all  were  transient,  and  darkness  followed  swift  each  vanish- 
ing apparition.  M.  Vandenhuten  aided  me  faithfully;  he 
set  me  on  the  track  of  several  places,  and  himself  made 
efforts  to  secure  them  for  me ;  but  for  a  long  time  solicitation 
and  recommendation  were  vain — the  door  either  shut  in  my 
face  when  I  was  about  to  walk  in,  or  another  candidate,  enter- 
ing before  me,  rendered  my  further  advance  useless.  Feverish 
and  roused,  no  disappointment  arrested  me ;  defeat  following 
fast  on  defeat  served  as  stimulants  to  will.  I  forgot  fastidious- 
ness, conquered  reserve,  thrust  pride  from  me :  I  asked,  I  perse- 
vered, I  remonstrated,  I  dunned.  It  is  so  that  openings  are 
forced  into  the  guarded  circle  where  Fortune  sits  dealing  favors 
round.  My  perseverance  made  me  known;  my  importunity 
made  me  remarked.  I  was  inquired  about ;  my  former  pupils' 
parents,  gathering  the  reports  of  their  children,  heard  me  spoken 
of  as  talented,  and  they  echoed  the  word :  the  sound,  bandied 
about  at  random,  came  at  last  to  ears  which,  but  for  its  univers- 
ality, it  might  never  have  reached ;  and  at  the  very  crisis  when 
I  had  tried  my  last  effort  and  knew  not  what  to  do,  Fortune 
looked  in  at  me  one  morning,  as  I  sat  in  drear  and  almost  des- 
perate deliberation  on  my  bedstead,  nodded  with  the  familiarity 
of  an  old  acquaintance — though  God  knows  I  had  never  met 
her  before — and  threw  a  prize  into  my  lap. 

In  the  second  week  of  October,  18 — ,  I  got  the  appointment 

of  English  professor  to  all  the  classes  of College,  Brussels, 

with  a  salary  of  three  thousand  francs  per  annum ;  and  the 


THE  PROFESSOR.  191 

certainty  of  being  able,  by  dint  of  the  reputation  and  publicity 
accompanying  the  position,  to  make  as  much  more  by  private 
lessons.  The  official  notice  which  communicated  this  informa- 
tion mentioned  also  that  it  was  the  strong  recommendation  of 
M.  Vandenhuten,  negotiant,  which  had  turned  the  scale  of 
choice  in  my  favor. 

No  sooner  had  I  read  the  announcement  than  I  hurried  to 
M.  Vandenhuten's  bureau,  pushed  the  document  under  his  nose, 
and  when  he  had  perused  it,  took  both  his  hands,  and  thanked 
him  with  unrestrained  vivacity.  My  vivid  words  and  emphatic 
gesture  moved  his  Dutch  calm  to  unwonted  sensation.  He  said 
he  was  happy — glad  to  have  served  me;  but  he  had  done 
nothing  meriting  such  thanks.  He  had  not  laid  out  a  centime — 
only  scratched  a  few  words  on  a  sheet  of  paper. 

Again  I  repeated  to  him,  "  You  have  made  me  quite  happy, 
and  in  a  way  that  suits  me ;  I  do  not  feel  an  obligation  irksome 
conferred  by  your  kind  hand ;  I  do  not  feel  disposed  to  shun 
you  because  you  have  done  me  a  favor.  From  this  day  you 
must  consent  to  admit  me  to  your  intimate  acquaintance,  for  I 
shall  hereafter  recur  again  and  again  to  the  pleasure  of  your 
society." 

"Ainsi  soit-il,"  was  the  reply,  accompanied  by  a  smile  of 
benignant  content.  I  went  away  with  its  sunshine  in  my  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

IT  was  two  o'clock  when  I  returned  to  my  lodgings ;  my 
dinner,  just  brought  in  from  a  neighboring  hotel,  smoked 
on  the  table.  I  sat  down,  thinking  to  eat.  Had  the  plate  been 
heaped  with  potsherds  and  broken  glass,  instead  of  boiled  beef 
and  haricots,  I  could  not  have  made  a  more  signal  failtfre. 
Appetite  had  forsaken  me.  Impatient  of  seeing  food  which  I 
could  not  taste,  I  put  it  all  aside  into  a  cupboard,  and  then 
demanded,  "  What  shall  I  do  till  evening  ?"  for  before  six  P.M. 


192  THE  PROFESSOR. 

it  would  be  vain  to  seek  the  Rue  Notre  Darne  aux  Neiges  ;  its 
inhabitant  (for  me  it  had  but  one)  was  detained  by  her  voca- 
tion elsewhere.  I  walked  in  the  streets  of  Brussels,  and  I 
walked  in  my  own  room  from  two  o'clock  till  six  ;  never  once 
in  that  space  of  time  did  I  sit  down.  I  was  in  my  chamber 
when  the  last-named  hour  struck.  I  had  just  bathed  my  face 
and  feverish  hands,  and  was  standing  near  the  glass ;  my  cheek 
was  crimson,  my  eye  was  flame,  still  all  my  features  looked 
quite  settled  and  calm.  Descending  swiftly  the  stair  and  step- 
ping out,  I  was  glad  to  see  twilight  drawing  on  in  clouds ;  such 
shade  was  to  me  like  a  grateful  screen,  and  the  chill  of  latter 
autumn,  breathing  in  a  fitful  wind  from  the  north-west,  met  me 
as  a  refreshing  coolness.  Still  I  saw  it  was  cold  to  others,  for 
the  women  I  passed  were  wrapped  in  shawls,  and  the  men  had 
their  coats  buttoned  close. 

When  are  we  quite  happy  ?  Was  I  so  then  ?  No ;  an  urgent 
and  growing  dread  worried  my  nerves,  and  had  worried  them 
since  the  first  moment  good  tidings  had  reached  me.  How  was 
Frances  ?  It  was  ten  weeks  since  I  had  seen  her,  six  since  I 
had  heard  from  her,  or  of  her.  I  had  answered  her  letter  by  a 
brief  note,  friendly  but  calm,  in  which  no  mention  of  continued 
correspondence  or  further  visits  was  made.  At  that  hour  my 
bark  hung  on  the  topmost  curl  of  a  wave  of  fate,  and  I  knew 
not  on  what  shoal  the  onward  rush  of  the  billow  might  hurl  it ; 
I  would  not  then  attach  her  destiny  to  mine  by  the  slightest 
thread ;  if  doomed  to  split  on  the  rock,  or  run  aground  on  the 
sand-bank,  I  was  resolved  no  other  vessel  should  share  my  dis- 
aster: but  six  weeks  was  a  long  time;  and  could  it  be  that  she 
was  still  well  and  doing  well  ?  Were  not  all  sages  agreed  in 
declaring  that  happiness  finds  no  climax  on  earth?  Dared  I 
think  that  but  half  a  street  now  divided  me  from  the  full  cup 
of  contentment — the  draught  drawn  from  waters  said  to  flow 
only  in  heaven  ? 

I  was  at  the  door ;  I  entered  the  quiet  house ;  I  mounted  the 
stairs;  the  lobby  was  void  and  still,  all  the  doors  closed;  I 
looked  for  the  neat  green  mat ;  it  lay  duly  in  its  place. 

"  Signal  of  hope !"  I  said,  and  advanced.  "  But  I  will  be  a 
little  calmer ;  I  am  not  going  to  rush  in,  and  get  up  a  scene 
directly."  Forcibly  staying  my  eager  step^I  paused  on  the  mat. 


THE  PROFESSOR.  193 

"What  an  absolute  hush!  Is  she  in?  Is  anybody  in?"  I 
demanded  to  myself.  A  little  tinkle,  as  of  cinders  falling  from 
a  grate,  replied  ;  a  movement — a  fire  was  gently  stirred  ;  and 
the  slight  rustle  of  life  continuing,  a  step  paced  equably  back- 
ward and  forward,  backward  and  forward,  in  the  apartment. 
Fascinated,  I  stood,  more  fixedly  fascinated  when  a  voice 
rewarded  the  attention  of  my  strained  ear — so  low,  so  self- 
addressed,  I  never  fancied  the  speaker  otherwise  than  alone ; 
solitude  might  speak  thus  in  a  desert,  or  in  the  hall  of  a  for- 
saken house : — 

"  And  ne'er  but  once,  my  son,"  he  said, 

"  Was  yon  dark  cavern  trod ; 
In  persecution's  iron  days, 

When  the  land  was  left  by  God. 
From  Bewley's  bog  with  slaughter  red, 

A  wanderer  hither  drew  ; 
And  oft  he  stopp'd  and  turn'd  his  head, 

As  by  fits  the  night-winds  blew. 
For  trampling  round  by  Cheviot-edge 

Were  heard  the  troopers  keen ; 
And  frequent  from  the  Whitelaw  ridge 

The  death-shot  flash'd  between,"  &c.  &c. 

The  old  Scotch  ballad  was  partly  recited,  then  dropped ;  a 
pause  ensued ;  then  another  strain  followed  in  French,  of  which 
the  purport,  translated,  ran  as  follows : — 

I  gave,  at  first,  attention  close ; 

Then  interest  warm  ensued ; 
From  interest,  as  improvement  rose, 

Succeeded  gratitude. 

Obedience  was  no  effort  soon, 

And  labor  was  no  pain ; 
If  tired,  a  word,  a  glance  alone 

Would  give  me  strength  again. 

From  others  of  the  studious  band, 

Ere  long  he  singled  me ; 
But  only  by  more  close  demand, 

And  sterner  urgency. 

The  task  he  from  another  took, 

From  me  he  did  reject; 
He  would  no  slight  omission  brook, 

And  suffer  no  defect. 
13 


194  THE  PROFESSOR. 

If  my  companions  went  astray, 

He  scarce  their  wanderings  blam'd ; 
If  I  but  falter'd  in  the  way, 

His  anger  fiercely  flam'd. 

Something  stirred  in  an  adjoining  chamber ;  it  would  not  do 
to  be  surprised  eavesdropping ;  I  tapped  hastily,  and  as  hastily 
entered.  Frances  was  just  before  me ;  she  had  been  walking 
slowly  in  her  room,  and  her  step  was  checked  by  my  advent. 
Twilight  only  was  with  her,  and  tranquil,  ruddy  Firelight ;  to 
these  sisters,  the  Bright  and  the  Dark,  she  had  been  speaking, 
ere  I  entered,  in  poetry.  Sir  Walter  Scott's  voice,  to  her  a 
foreign,  far-off  sound,  a  mountain  echo,  had  uttered  itself  in  the 
first  stanza ;  the  second,  I  thought,  from  the  style  and  the  sub- 
stance, was  the  language  of  her  own  heart.  Her  face  was 
grave,  its  expression  concentrated ;  she  bent  on  me  an  unsmiling 
eye — an  eye  just  returning  from  abstraction,  just  awaking  from 
dreams ;  well  arranged  was  her  simple  attire,  smooth  her  dark 
hair,  orderly  her  tranquil  room  ;  but  what — with  her  thought- 
ful look,  her  serious  self-reliance,  her  bent  to  meditation,  and 
haply  inspiration — what  had  she  to  do  with  love  ?  "  Nothing," 
was  the  answer  of  her  own  sad  though  gentle  countenance ;  it 
seemed  to  say,  "  I  must  cultivate  fortitude  and  cling  to  poetry ; 
one  is  to  be  my  support  and  the  other  my  solace  through  life. 
Human  affections  do  not  bloom  nor  do  human  passions  glow 
for  me."  Other  women  have  such  thoughts.  Frances,  had  she 
been  as  desolate  as  she  deemed,  would  not  have  been  worse  off 
than  thousands  of  her  sex.  Look  at  the  rigid  and  formal  race 
of  old  maids — the  race  whom  all  despise ;  they  have  fed  them- 
selves, from  youth  upwards,  on  maxims  of  resignation  and  en- 
durance. Many  of  them  get  ossified  with  the  dry  diet ;  self- 
control  is  so  continually  their  thought,  so  perpetually  their 
object,  and  at  last  it  absorbs  the  softer  and  more  agreeable 
qualities  of  their  nature,  and  they  die  mere  models  of  austerity, 
fashioned  out  of  a  little  parchment  and  much  bone.  Anato- 
mists will  tell  you  that  there  is  a  heart  in  the  withered  old 
maid's  carcass — the  same  as  in  that  of  any  cherished  wife  or 
proud  mother  in  the  land.  Can  this  be  so?  I  really  don't 
know,  but  feel  inclined  to  doubt  it. 

I  came  forward,  bade  Frances  "  good-evening,"  and  took  my 


THE  PROFESSOR.  195 

seat.  The  chair  I  had  chosen  was  one  she  had  probably  just 
left ;  it  stood  by  a  little  table  where  were  her  open  desk  and 
papers.  I  know  not  whether  she  had  fully  recognized  me  at 
first,  but  she  did  so  now  ;  and  in  a  voice  soft  but  quiet  she  re- 
turned my  greeting.  I  had  shown  no  eagerness ;  she  took  her 
cue  from  me,  and  evinced  no  surprise.  We  met  as  we  had 
always  met,  as  master  and  pupil — nothing  more.  I  proceeded 
to  handle  the  papers ;  Frances,  observant  and  serviceable, 
stepped  into  an  inner  room,  brought  a  candle,  lit  it,  placed  it 
by  me ;  then  drew  the  curtain  over  the  lattice,  and  having 
added  a  little  fresh  fuel  to  the  already  bright  fire,  she  drew  a 
second  chair  to  the  table,  and  sat  down  at  my  right  hand,  a 
little  removed.  The  paper  on  the  top  was  a  translation  of  some 
grave  French  author  into  English,  but  underneath  lay  a  sheet 
with  stanzas  ;  on  this  I  laid  hands.  Frances  half  rose,  made  a 
movement  to  recover  the  captured  spoil,  saying,  that  was 
nothing — a  mere  copy  of  verses.  I  put  by  resistance  with  the 
decision  I  knew  she  never  long  opposed :  but  on  this  occasion 
her  fingers  had  fastened  on  the  paper.  I  had  quietly  to  unloose 
them;  their  hold  dissolved  to  my  touch;  her  hand  shrunk 
away ;  my  own  would  fain  have  followed  it,  but  for  the  present  I 
forbade  such  impulse.  The  first  page  of  the  sheet  was  occupied 
with  the  lines  I  had  overheard :  the  sequel  was  not  exactly  the 
writer's  own  experience,  but  a  composition  by  portions  of  that 
experience  suggested.  Thus,  while  egotism  was  avoided,  the 
fancy  was  exercised,  and  the  heart  satisfied.  I  translate  as 
before,  and  my  translation  is  nearly  literal ;  it  continued  thus : — 

When  sickness  stayed  a  while  my  course, 

He  seem'd  impatient  still, 
Because  his  pupil's  flagging  force 

Could  not  obey  his  will. 

One  day  when  summoned  to  the  bed 

Where  pain  and  I  did  strive, 
I  heard  him,  as  he  bent  his  head, 

Say,  "  God,  she  must  revive !" 

I  felt  his  hand,  with  gentle  stress, 

A  moment  laid  on  mine, 
And  wished  to  mark  my  consciousness 

By  some  responsive  sign. 


196  THE  PROFESSOR, 

But  pow'rless  then  to  speak  or  move, 

I  only  felt,  within, 
The  sense  of  Hope,  the  strength  of  Love, 

Their  healing  work  begin. 

And  as  he  from  the  room  withdrew, 
My  heart  his  steps  pursued ; 

I  longed  to  prove,  by  efforts  new, 
My  speechless  gratitude. 

When  once  again  I  took  my  place, 
Long  vacant,  in  the  class, 

Th'  unfrequent  smile  across  his  face 
Did  for  one  moment  pass. 

The  lessons  done ;  the  signal  made 
Of  glad  release  and  play, 

He,  as  he  passed,  an  instant  stay'd, 
One  kindly  word  to  say. 

"  Jane,  till  to-morrow  you  are  free 
From  tedious  task  and  rule ; 

This  afternoon  I  must  not  see 
That  yet  pale  face  in  school. 

"  Seek  in  the  garden-shades  a  seat, 
Far  from  the  playground  din  ; 

The  sun  is  warm,  the  air  is  sweet: 
Stay  till  I  call  you  in." 

A  long  and  pleasant  afternoon 
I  passed  in  those  green  bowers ; 

All  silent,  tranquil,  and  alone, 
With  birds,  and  bees,  and  flowers. 

Yet,  when  my  master's  voice  I  heard 
Call,  from  the  window,  "  Jane  1" 

I  entered,  joyful,  at  the  word, 
The  busy  house  again. 

He  in  the  hall  paced  up  and  down ; 

He  paused  as  I  passed  by ; 
His  forehead  stern  relaxed  its  frown ; 

He  raised  his  deep-set  eye. 

"  Not  quite  so  pale,"  he  murmured  low. 

"  Now,  Jane,  go  rest  a  while." 
And  as  I  smiled,  his  smoothened  brow 

Returned  as  glad  a  smile. 

My  perfect  health  restored,  he  took 
His  mien  austere  again  ; 

And,  as  before,  he  would  not  brook 
The  slightest  fault  from  Jane. 


THE  PROFESSOR.  197 

The  longest  task,  the  hardest  theme, 

Fell  to  my  share  as  erst, 
And  still  I  toiled  to  place  my  name 

In  every  study  first. 

He  yet  begrudged  and  stinted  praise, 

But  I  had  learned  to  read 
The  secret  meaning  of  his  face, 

And  that  was  my  best  meed. 

Even  when  his  hasty  temper  spoke 

In  tones  that  sorrow  stirred, 
My  grief  was  lulled  as  soon  as  woke, 

By  some  relenting  word. 

And  when  he  lent  some  precious  book, 

Or  gave  some  fragrant  flower, 
I  did  not  quail  to  Envy's  look, 

Upheld  by  Pleasure's  power. 

At  last  our  school  ranks  took  their  ground ; 

The  hard-fought  field  I  won  : 
The  prize,  a  laurel-wreath, was  bound 

My  throbbing  forehead  on. 

Low  at  my  master's  knee  I  bent, 

The  offered  crown  to  meet ; 
Its  green  leaves  through  my  temples  sent 

A  thrill  as  wild  as  sweet. 

The  strong  pulse  of  Ambition  struck 

In  every  vein  I  owned  ; 
At  the  same  instant,  bleeding  broke 

A  secret,  inward  wound. 

The  hour  of  triumph  was  to  me 

The  hour  of  sorrow  sore ; 
A  day  hence  I  must  cross  the  sea, 

Ne'er  to  recross  it  more. 

An  hour  hence,  in  my  master's  room, 

I  with  him  sat  alone, 
And  told  him  what  a  dreary  gloom 

O'er  joy  had  parting  thrown. 

He  little  said ;  the  time  was  brief, 

The  ship  was  soon  to  sail, 
And  while  I  sobbed  in  bitter  grief, 

My  master  but  looked  pale. 

They  called  in  haste  ;  he  bade  me  go, 

Then  snatched  me  back  again  ; 
He  held  me  fast,  and  murmured  low, 

"  Why  will  they  part  us,  Jane  ? 


198  THE  PROFESSOR. 

"  Were  you  not  happy  in  my  care  ? 

Did  I  not  faithful  prove  ? 
Will  others  to  my  darling  bear 

As  true,  as  deep  a  love  ? 

"  O  God,  watch  o'er  my  foster  child  I 

O  guard  her  gentle  head  ! 
When  winds  are  high,  and  tempests  wild, 

Protection  round  her  spread  I 

"  They  call  again ;  leave,  then,  my  breast ; 

Quit  thy  true  shelter,  Jane ; 
But  when  deceived,  repulsed,  opprest, 

Come  home  to  me  again  !" 

I  read,  then  dreamily  made  marks  on  the  margin  -with  my 
pencil ;  thinking  all  the  while  of  other  things ;  thinking  that 
"  Jane"  was  now  at  my  side — no  child,  but  a  girl  of  nineteen  ; 
and  she  might  be  mine — so  my  heart  affirmed.  Poverty's  curse 
was  taken  off  me  ;  envy  and  jealousy  were  far  away,  and  unap- 
prised  of  this  our  quiet  meeting  ;  the  frost  of  the  master's  man- 
ner might  melt ;  I  felt  the  thaw  coming  fast,  whether  I  would  or 
not ;  no  need  further  for  the  eye  to  practice  a  hard  look,  for  the 
brow  to  compress  its  expanse  into  a  stern  fold :  it  was  now  per- 
mitted to  suffer  the  outward  revelation  of  the  inward  glow — to 
seek,  demand,  elicit,  an  answering  ardor.  While  musing  thus, 
I  thought  that  the  grass  on  Hermon  never  drank  the  fresh 
dews  of  sunset  more  gratefully  than  my  feelings  drank  the  bliss 
of  this  hour. 

Frances  rose,  as  if  restless ;  she  passed  before  me  to  stir  the 
fire,  which  did  not  want  stirring ;  she  lifted  and  put  down  the 
little  ornaments  on  the  mantelpiece ;  her  dress  waved  within  a 
yard  of  me ;  slight,  straight,  and  elegant,  she  stood  erect  on  the 
hearth. 

There  are  impulses  we  can  control ;  but  there  are  others 
which  control  us,  because  they  attain  us  with  a  tiger  leap,  and 
are  our  masters  ere  we  have  seen  them.  Perhaps,  though,  such 
impulses  are  seldom  altogether  bad ;  perhaps  reason,  by  a  pro- 
cess as  brief  as  quiet,  a  process  that  is  finished  ere  felt,  has 
ascertained  the  sanity  of  the  deed.  Instinct  meditates,  and 
feels  justified  in  remaining  passive  while  it  is  performed.  I 
know  I  did  not  reason,  I  did  not  plan  or  intend,  yet,  whereas 
one  moment  I  was  sitting  solus  on  the  chair  near  the  table,  the 


THE  PROFESSOR.  199 

next  I  held  Frances  on  my  knee,  placed  there  with  sharpness 
and  decision,  and  retained  with  exceeding  tenacity. 

"  Monsieur !"  cried  Frances,  and  was  still.  Not  another 
word  escaped  her  lips ;  sorely  confounded  she  seemed  during 
the  lapse  of  the  first  few  moments ;  but  the  amazement  soon 
subsided  ;  terror  did  not  succeed,  nor  fury ;  after  all,  she  was 
only  a  little  nearer  than  she  had  ever  been  before  to  one  she 
habitually  respected  and  trusted.  Embarrassment  might  have 
impelled  her  to  contend,  but  self-respect  checked  resistance 
where  resistance  was  useless. 

"  Frances,  how  much  regard  have  you  for  me  T  was  my  de- 
mand. No  answer  ;  the  situation  was  yet  too  new  and  surpris- 
ing to  permit  speech.  On  this  consideration,  I  compelled  my- 
self for  some  seconds  to  tolerate  her  silence,  though  impatient 
of  it.  Presently  I  repeated  the  same  question — probably  not 
in  the  calmest  of  tones.  She  looked  at  me  ;  my  face,  doubt- 
less, was  no  model  of  composure,  my  eyes  no  still  wells  of  tran- 
quillity. 

"  Do  speak,"  I  urged  ;  and  a  very  low,  hurried,  yet  still  arch 
voice  said,  "  Monsieur,  vous  me  faites  mal ;  de  grace  lachez  un 
peu  ma  main  droite." 

In  truth,  I  became  aware  that  I  was  holding  the  same  "  main 
droite"  in  a  somewhat  ruthless  grasp.  I  did  as  desired,  and,  for 
the  third  time,  asked  more  gently,  "  Frances,  how  much  regard 
have  you  for  me  ?" 

"Mon  maitre,  j'en  ai  beaucoup,"  was  the  truthful  rejoinder. 

"  Frances,  have  you  enough  to  give  yourself  to  me  as  my 
wife  ? — to  accept  me  as  your  husband  ?'-' 

I  felt  the  agitation  of  the  heart ;  I  saw  "  the  purple  light  of 
love"  cast  its  glowing  reflection  on  cheeks,  temples,  neck ;  I  de- 
sired to  consult  the  eye,  but  sheltering  lash  and  lid  forbade. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  soft  voice  at  last, — "  Monsieur,  desire 
savoir  si  je  consens — si — enfin,  si  je  vous  me  marier  avec  lui  ?" 

"  Justement." 

"  Monsieur,  sera-t-il  aussi  bon  mari  qu'il  e"te"  bon  maitre  ?" 

"  I  will  try,  Frances." 

A  pause  ;  then  with  a  new  yet  still  subdued  inflexion  of  the 
voice — an  inflexion  which  provoked  while  it  pleased  me — 
accompanied,  too,  by  a  "  sourire  a  la  fois  fin  et  tiniide"  in  per- 


200  THE  PROFESSOR. 

feet  harmony  with  the  tone :  "  C'est  a  dire,  Monsieur  sera  tou- 
jours  un  peu  ente'te',  exigeant,  volontaire ?" 

"  Have  I  been  so,  Frances  ?" 

"  Mais  oui ;  vous  le  savez  bien." 

"  Have  I  been  nothing  else  ?" 

"  Mais  oui ;  vous  avez  ete  mon  meilleur  ami." 

"  And  what,  Frances,  are  you  to  me  ?" 

"  Votre  devouee  eleve,  qui  vous  aime  de  tout  son  coeur." 

"  Will  my  pupil  consent  to  pass  her  life  with  me  ?  Speak 
English  now,  Frances." 

Some  moments  were  taken  for  reflection ;  the  answer,  pro- 
nounced slowly,  ran  thus : — 

"  You  have  always  made  me  happy ;  I  like  to  hear  you  speak; 
I  like  to  see  you ;  I  like  to  be  near  you ;  I  believe  you  are  very 
good,  very  superior ;  I  know  you  are  stern  to  those  who  are 
careless  and  idle,  but  you  are  kind,  very  kind  to  the  attentive 
and  industrious,  even  if  they  are  not  clever.  Master,  I  should 
be  glad  to  live  with  you  always ;"  and  she  made  a  sort  of  move- 
ment, as  if  she  would  have  clung  to  me,  but  restraining  herself, 
she  only  added  with  earnest  emphasis — "  Master,  I  consent  to 
pass  my  life  with  you." 

"  Very  well,  Frances." 

I  drew  her  a  little  nearer  to  my  heart ;  I  took  a  first  kiss  from 
her  lips,  thereby  sealing  the  compact  now  framed  between  us ; 
afterwards  she  and  I  were  silent,  nor  was  our  silence  brief. 
Frances'  thoughts,  during  this  interval,  I  knew  not,  nor  did  I 
attempt  to  guess  them  ;  I  was  not  occupied  in  searching  her 
countenance,  nor  in  otherwise  troubling  her  composure.  The 
peace  I  felt,  I  wished  her  to  feel ;  my  arm,  it  is  true,  still  de- 
tained her ;  but  with  a  restraint  that  was  gentle  enough,  so  long 
as  no  opposition  tightened  it.  My  gaze  was  on  the  red  fire ; 
my  heart  was  measuring  its  own  content;  it  sounded  and 
sounded,  and  found  the  depth  fathomless. 

"  Monsieur,"  at  last  said  my  quiet  companion,  as  stirless  in 
her  happiness  as  a  mouse  in  its  terror.  Even  now  in  speaking 
she  scarcely  lifted  her  head. 

"  Well,  Frances  ?"  I  like  unexaggerated  intercourse ;  it  is 
not  my  way  to  overpower  with  amorous  epithets,  any  more  than 
to  worry  with  selfishly  importunate  caresses. 


THE  PROFESSOR.  201 

"  Monsieur  est  raisonable,  n'est-ce  pas  ?" 

"  Yes ;  especially  when  I  am  requested  to  be  so  in  English  : 
why  dp  you  aak  me  ?  You  see  nothing  vehement  or  obtrusive 
in  my  manner ;  am  I  not  tranquil  enough  ?" 

"  Ce  n'est  pas  cela — "  began  Frances. 

"  English  !"  I  reminded  her. 

"  Well,  Monsieur,  I  wished  merely  to  say,  that  I  should  like, 
of  course,  to  retain  my  employment  of  teaching.  You  will  teach 
still,  I  suppose,  Monsieur  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes !     It  is  all  I  have  to  depend  on." 

"  Bon  ! — I  mean  good.  Thus  we  shall  both  have  the  same 
profession.  I  like  that ;  and  my  efforts  to  get  on  will  be  as 
unrestrained  as  yours — will  they  not,  Monsieur  ?" 

"  You  are  laying  plans  to  be  independent  of  me,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur ;  I  must  be  no  incumbrance  to  you — no  bur- 
den in  any  way." 

"  But,  Frances,  I  have  not  yet  told  you  what  my  prospects 
are.  I  have  left  M.  Pelet's ;  and  after  nearly  a  month's  seek- 
ing, I  have  got  another  place,  with  a  salary  of  three  thousand 
francs  a  year,  which  I  can  easily  double  by  a  little  additional 
exertion.  Thus  you  see  it  would  be  useless  for  you  to  fag  your- 
self by  going  out  to  give  lessons ;  on  six  thousand  francs  you 
and  I  can  live,  and  live  well." 

Frances  seemed  to  consider.  There  is  something  flattering  to 
man's  strength,  something  consonant  to  his  honorable  pride,  in 
the  idea  of  becoming  the  providence  of  what  he  loves — feeding 
and  clothing  it,  as  God  does  the  lilies  of  the  field.  So,  to  decide 
her  resolution,  I  went  on  : — 

"  Life  has  been  painful  and  laborious  enough  to  you  so  far, 
Frances ;  you  require  complete  rest ;  your  twelve  hundred  francs 
would  not  form  a  very  important  addition  to  our  income,  and 
what  sacrifice  of  comfort  to  earn  it !  Relinquish  your  labors : 
you  must  be  weary,  and  let  me  have  the  happiness  of  giving 
you  rest." 

I  am  not  sure  whether  Frances  had  accorded  due  attention 
to  my  harangue;  instead  of  answering  me  with  her  usual 
respectful  promptitude,  she  only  sighed  and  said, — "  How  rich 
you  are,  Monsieur  !"  and  then  she  stirred  uneasy  in  my  arms. 
"  Three  thousand  francs !"  she  murmured,  "  while  I  get  only 


202  THE  PROFESSOR. 

twelve  hundred !"  She  went  on  faster.  "  However,  it  must  be 
so  for  the  present ;  and,  Monsieur,  were  you  not  saying  some- 
thing about  my  giving  up  my  place  ?  Oh,  no !  I  shall  hold  it 
fast ;"  and  her  little  fingers  emphatically  tightened  on  mine. 
"  Think  of  my  marrying  you  to  be  kept  by  you,  Monsieur !  I 
could  not  do  it ;  and  how  dull  my  days  would  be !  You  would 
be  away  teaching  in  close,  noisy  schoolrooms,  from  morning  till 
evening,  and  I  should  be  lingering  at  home,  unemployed  and 
solitary ;  I  should  get  depressed  and  sullen,  and  you  would  soon 
tire  of  me." 

"  Frances,  you  could  read  and  study — two  things  you  like  so 
well." 

"  Monsieur,  I  could  not ;  I  like  a  contemplative  life,  but  I 
like  an  active  life  better ;  I  must  act  in  some  way,  and  act  with 
you.  I  have  taken  notice,  Monsieur,  that  people  who  are  only 
in  each  other's  company  for  amusement,  never  really  like  each 
other  so  well,  or  esteem  each  other  so  highly,  as  those  who  work 
together,  and  perhaps  suffer  together." 

"  You  speak  God's  truth,"  said  I,  at  last,  "  and  you  shall  have 
your  own  way,  for  it  is  the  best  way.  Now,  as  a  reward  for 
such  ready  consent,  give  me  a  voluntary  kiss." 

After  some  hesitation,  natural  to  a  novice  in  the  art  of  kiss- 
ing, she  brought  her  lips  into  very  shy  and  gentle  contact  with 
my  forehead ;  I  took  the  small  gift  as  a  loan,  and  repaid  it 
promptly,  and  with  generous  interest. 

I  know  not  whether  Frances  was  really  much  altered  since 
the  time  I  first  saw  her ;  but,  as  I  looked  at  her  now,  I  felt  that 
she  was  singularly  changed  for  me ;  the  sad  eye,  the  pale  cheek, 
the  dejected  and  joyless  countenance  I  remembered  as  her  early 
attributes,  were  quite  gone,  and  now  I  saw  a  face  dressed  in 
graces ;  smile,  dimple  and  rosy  tint,  rounded  its  contours  and 
brightened  its  hues.  I  had  been  accustomed  to  nurse  a  flatter- 
ing idea  that  my  strong  attachment  to  her  proved  some  particu- 
lar perspicacity  in  my  nature  ;  she  was  not  handsome,  she  was 
not  rich,  she  was  not  even  accomplished,  yet  was  she  my  life's 
treasure ;  I  must  then  be  a  man  of  peculiar  discernment.  To- 
night my  eyes  opened  on  the  mistake  I  had  made  ;  I  began  to 
suspect  that  it  was  only  my  tastes  which  were  unique,  not  my 
power  of  discovering  and  appreciating  the  superiority  of  moral 


THE  PROFESSOR.  203 

worth  over  physical  charms.  For  me  Frances  had  physical 
charms ;  in  her  there  was  no  deformity  to  get  over ;  none  of 
those  prominent  defects  of  eyes,  teeth,  complexion,  shape,  which 
hold  at  bay  the  admiration  of  the  boldest  male  champions  of 
intellect  (for  women  can  love  a  downright  ugly  man  if  he  be  but 
talented)  ;  had  she  been  either  "  e"dentee,  myope,  rugueuse,  ou 
bossue,"  my  feelings  towards  her  might  still  have  been  kindly, 
but  they  could  never  have  been  impassioned ;  I  had  affection  for 
the  poor  little  misshapen  Sylvie,  but  for  her  I  could  never  have 
had  love.  It  is  true  Frances'  mental  points  had  been  the  first 
to  interest  me,  and  they  still  retained  the  strongest  hold  on  my 
preference ;  but  I  liked  the  graces  of  her  person  too.  I  derived 
a  pleasure,  purely  material,  from  contemplating  the  clearness  of 
her  brown  eyes,  the  fairness  of  her  fine  skin,  the  purity  of  her 
well-set  teeth,  the  proportion  of  her  delicate  form ;  and  that 
pleasure  I  could  ill  have  dispensed  with.  It  appeared,  then, 
that  I  too  was  a  sensualist,  in  my  temperate  and  fastidious  way. 

Now,  reader,  during  the  last  two  pages  I  have  been  giving 
you  honey  fresh  from  flowers,  but  you  must  not  live  entirely  on 
food  so  luscious ;  taste,  then,  a  little  gall — -just  a  drop,  by  way  of 
change. 

At  a  somewhat  late  hour  I  returned  to  my  lodgings ;  having 
temporarily  forgotten  that  man  had  any  such  coarse  cares  as 
those  of  eating  and  drinking,  I  went  to  bed  fasting.  I  had  been 
excited  and  in  action  all  day,  and  had  tasted  no  food  since  eight 
that  morning ;  besides,  for  a  fortnight  past  I  had  known  no  rest 
either  of  body  or  mind ;  the  last  few  hours  had  been  a  sweet 
delirium,  it  would  not  subside  now,  and  till  long  after  midnight, 
broke  with  troubled  ecstasy  the  rest  I  so  much  needed.  At  last 
I  dozed,  but  not  for  long ;  it  was  yet  quite  dark  when  I  awoke, 
and  my  waking  was  like  that  of  Job  when  a  spirit  passed  before 
his  face,  and  like  him,  "  the  hair  of  my  flesh  stood  up."  I  might 
continue  the  parallel,  for  in  truth,  though  I  saw  nothing,  yet  "  a 
thing  was  secretly  brought  unto  me,  and  mine  ear  received  a 
little  thereof;  there  was  silence,  and  I  heard  a  voice"  saying — 
"  In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death." 

That  sound,  and  the  sensation  of  chill  anguish  accompanying 
it,  many  would  have  regarded  as  supernatural ;  but  I  recognized 
it  at  once  as  the  effect  of  reaction.  Man  is  ever  clogged  with 


204  THE  PROFESSOR. 

his  mortality,  and  it  was  my  mortal  nature  which  now  faltered 
and  plained ;  my  nerves  which  jarred  and  gave  a  false  sound, 
because  the  soul,  of  late  rushing  headlong  to  an  aim,  had  over- 
strained the  body's  comparative  weakness.  A  horror  of  great 
darkness  fell  upon  me ;  I  felt  my  chamber  invaded  by  one  I 
had  known  formerly,  but  had  thought  forever  departed.  I  was 
temporarily  a  prey  to  hypochondria. 

She  had  been  my  acquaintance,  nay,  my  guest,  once  before 
in  boyhood ;  I  had  entertained  her  at  bed  and  board  for  a  year ; 
for  that  space  of  time  I  had  her  to  myself  in  secret ;  she  lay 
with  me,  she  ate  with  me,  she  walked  out  with  me,  showing  me 
nooks  in  woods,  hollows  in  hills,  where  we  could  sit  together, 
and  where  she  could  drop  her  drear  veil  over  me,  and  so  hide 
sky  and  sun,  grass  and  green  tree;  taking  me  entirely  to  her 
death-cold  bosom,  and  holding  me  with  arms  of  bone.  What 
tales  she  would  tell  me  at  such  hours !  What  songs  she  would 
recite  in  my  ears!  How  she  would  discourse  to  me  of  her  own 
country — the  grave — and  again  and  again  promise  to  conduct 
me  there  ere  long ;  and  drawing  me  to  the  very  brink  of  a 
black,  sullen  river,  show  me,  on  the  other  side,  shores  unequal 
with  mound,  monument,  and  tablet,  standing  up  in  a  glimmer 
more  hoary  than  moonlight.  "  Necropolis !"  she  would  whisper, 
pointing  to  the  pale  piles,  and  add,  "  It  contains  a  mansion  pre- 
pared for  you." 

But  my  boyhood  was  lonely,  parentless ;  uncheered  by  brother 
or  sister ;  and  there  was  no  marvel  that,  just  as  I  rose  to  youth, 
a  sorceress,  finding  me  lost  in  vague  mental  wanderings,  with 
many  affections  and  few  objects,  glowing  aspirations  and  gloomy 
prospects,  strong  desires  and  slender  hopes,  should  lift  up  her 
illusive  lamp  to  me  in  the  distance,  and  lure  me  to  her  vaulted 
home  of  horrors.  No  wonder  her  spells  then  had  power;  but 
now,  when  my  course  was  widening,  my  prospect  brightening ; 
when  my  affections  had  found  a  rest ;  when  my  desires,  folding 
wings,  weary  with  long  flight,  had  just  alighted  on  the  very  lap 
of  fruition,  and  nestled  there  warm,  content,  under  the  caress 
of  a  soft  hand — why  did  hypochondria  accost  me  now  ? 

I  repulsed  her  as  one  would  a  dreaded  and  ghastly  concubine 
coming  to  embitter  a  husband's  heart  toward  his  young  bride ; 
in  vain  ;  she  kept  her  sway  over  me  for  that  night  and  the  next 


THE  PROFESSOR.  205 

day,  and  eight  succeeding  days.  Afterwards,  my  spirits  began 
slowly  to  recover  their  tone ;  my  appetite  returned,  and  in  a 
fortnight  I  was  well.  I  had  gone  about  as  usual  all  the  time, 
and  had  said  nothing  to  anybody  of  what  I  felt ;  but  I  was 
glad  when  the  evil  spirit  departed  from  me,  and  I  could  again 
seek  Frances,  and  sit  at  her  side  freed  from  the  dreadful  tyranny 
of  my  demon. 


CHAPTER     XXIV. 

ONE  fine  frosty  Sunday  in  November,  Frances  and  I  took 
a  long  walk  ;  we  made  the  tour  of  the  city  by  the  Boule- 
vards ;  and,  afterwards,  Frances  being  a  little  tired,  we  sat  down 
on  one  of  those  wayside  seats  placed  under  the  trees,  at  inter- 
vals, for  the  accommodation  of  the  weary.  Frances  was  telling 
me  about  Switzerland  ;  the  subject  animated  her ;  and  I  was 
just  thinking  that  her  eyes  spoke  full  as  eloquently  as  her 
tongue,  when  she  stopped  and  remarked — "  Monsieur,  there  is 
a  gentleman  who  knows  you." 

I  looked  up ;  three  fashionably  dressed  men  were  just  then 
passing — Englishmen,  I  knew  by  their  air  and  gait  as  well  as 
by  their  features ;  in  the  tallest  of  the  trio  I  at  once  recognized 
Mr.  Hunsden ;  he  was  in  the  act  of  lifting  his  hat  to  Frances  ; 
afterwards,  he  made  a  grimace  at  me  and  passed  on. 

"Who  is  he?" 

"  A  person  I  knew  in  England." 

"  Why  did  he  bow  to  me  ?    He  does  not  know  me." 

"  Yes,  he  does  know  you,  in  his  way." 

"How,  Monsieur?"  (She  still  called  me  "Monsieur;"  I 
could  not  persuade  her  to  adopt  any  more  familiar  term.) 

"  Did  you  not  read  the  expression  of  his  eyes?" 

"  Of  his  eyes  ?     No.     What  did  they  say  ?" 

"  To  you  they  said,  '  How  do  you  do,  Wilhelmina  Crims- 
worth  ?'  To  me,  '  So  you  have  found  your  counterpart  at  last ; 
there  she  sits,  the  female  of  your  kind  !" 


206  THE  PROFESSOR. 

"  Monsieur,  you  could  not  read  all  that  in  his  eyes ;  he  was 
so  soon  gone." 

"  I  read  that  and  more,  Frances ;  I  read  that  he  will  probably 
call  on  me  this  evening,  or  on  some  future  occasion  shortly  ;  and 
I  have  no  doubt  he  will  insist  on  being  introduced  to  you ;  shall 
I  bring  him  to  your  rooms?" 

"  If  you  please,  Monsieur — I  have  no  objection ;  I  think, 
indeed,  I  should  rather  like  to  see  him  nearer;  he  looks  so 
original." 

As  I  had  anticipated,  Mr.  Hunsden  came  that  evening.  The 
first  thing  he  said  was  : — "  You  need  not  begin  boasting,  Mon- 
sieur le  Professeur ;  I  know  about  your  appointment  to  — 
College,  and  all  that ;  Brown  has  told  me."  Then  he  intimated 
that  he  had  returned  from  Germany  but  a  day  or  two  since ; 
afterwards,  he  abruptly  demanded  whether  that  was  Madame 
Pclet-Reuter  with  whom  he  had  seen  me  on  the  Boulevards.  I 
was  going  to  utter  a  rather  emphatic  negative,  but  on  second 
thoughts  I  checked  myself,  and,  seeming  to  assent,  asked  what 
he  thought  of  her. 

"As  to  her,  I'll  come  to  that  directly ;  but  first  I've  a  word 
for  you.  I  see  you  are  a  scoundrel ;  you've  no  business  to  be 
promenading  about  with  another  man's  wife.  I  thought  you 
had  sounder  sense  than  to  get  mixed  up  in  foreign  hodge-podge 
of  this  sort." 

"But  the  lady?" 

"  She's  too  good  for  you  evidently ;  she  is  like  you,  but 
something  better  than  you — no  beauty,  though  ;  yet  when  she 
rose  (for  I  looked  back  to  see  you  both  walk  away)  I  thought 
her  figure  and  carriage  good.  These  foreigners  understand 
grace.  What  the  devil  has  she  done  with  Pelet?  She  has 
not  been  married  to  him  three  months — he  must  be  a  spoon !" 

I  would  not  let  the  mistake  go  too  far ;  I  did  not  like  it 
much. 

"  Pelet?  How  your  head  runs  on  Mons.  and  Madame  Pelet! 
You  are  always  talking  about  them.  I  wish  to  the  gods  you 
had  wed  Mdlle.  Zoraide  yourself !" 

"  Was  that  young  gentlewoman  not  Mdlle.  Zoraide  ?" 

"  No  ;  nor  Madame  Zoraide  either." 

"  Why  did  you  tell  a  lie,  then?" 


THE  PROFESSOR.  207 

"  I  told  no  lie  ;  but  you  are  in  such  a  hurry.  She  is  a  pupil 
of  mine — a  Swiss  girl." 

"  And  of  course  you  are  going  to  be  married  to  her  ?  Don't 
deny  that." 

"  Married !  I  think  I  shall — if  Fate  spares  us  both  ten 
weeks  longer.  That  is  my  little  wild  strawberry,  Hunsden, 
whose  sweetness  made  me  careless  of  your  hot-house  grapes." 

"  Stop !  No  boasting — no  heroics ;  I  won't  bear  them.  What 
is  she  ?  To  what  caste  does  she  belong  ?" 

I  smiled.  Hunsden  unconsciously  laid  stress  on  the  word 
caste,  and,  in  fact,  republican  lord-hater  as  he  was,  Hunsden 

was  as  proud  of  his  old shire  blood,  of  his  descent  and 

family  standing,  respectable  and  respected  through  long  genera- 
tions back,  as  any  peer  in  the  realm  of  his  Norman  race  and 
conquest-dated  title.  Hunsden  would  as  little  have  thought  of 
taking  a  wife  from  a  caste  inferior  to  his  own,  as  a  Stanley 
would  think  of  mating  with  a  Cobden.  I  enjoyed  the  surprise 
I  should  give  ;  I  enjoyed  the  triumph  of  my  practice  over  his 
theory ;  and,  leaning  over  the  table,  and  uttering  the  words 
slowly  but  with  repressed  glee,  I  said  concisely — "  She  is  a  lace- 
mender." 

Hunsden  examined  me.  He  did  not  say  he  was  surprised, 
but  surprised  he  was  ;  he  had  his  own  notions  of  good  breeding. 
I  saw  he  suspected  I  was  going  to  take  some  very  rash  step  ;  but 
repressing  declamation  or  remonstrance,  he  only  answered — 
"  Well,  you  are  the  best  judge  of  your  own  affairs.  A  lace- 
mender  may  make  a  good  wife  as  well  as  a  lady ;  but  of  course 
you  have  taken  care  to  ascertain  thoroughly  that  since  she  has 
not  education,  fortune  or  station,  she  is  well  furnished  with  such 
natural  qualities  as  you  think  most  likely  to  conduce  to  your 
happiness.  Has  she  many  relations  ?" 

"  None  in  Brussels." 

"  That  is  better.  Eelations  are  often  the  real  evil  in  such 
cases.  I  cannot  but  think  that  a  train  of  inferior  connections 
would  have  been  a  bore  to  you  to  your  life's  end." 

After  sitting  in  silence  a  little  while  longer  Hunsden  rose,  and 
was  quietly  bidding  me  good-evening ;  the  polite,  considerate 
manner  in  which  he  offered  me  his  hand  (a  thing  he  had  never 
done  before)  convinced  me  that  he  thought  I  had  made  a  terri- 


208  THE  PROFESSOR. 

ble  fool  of  myself;  and  that,  ruined  and  thrown  away  as  I  was, 
it  was  no  time  for  sarcasm  or  cynicism,  or  indeed  for  anything 
but  indulgence  and  forbearance. 

"  Good-night,  William,"  he  said,  in  a  really  soft  voice,  while 
his  face  looked  benevolently  compassionate.  "  Good-night,  lad. 
I  wish  you  and  your  future  wife  much  prosperity  ;  and  I  hope 
she  will  satisfy  your  fastidious  soul." 

I  had  much  ado  to  refrain  from  laughing  as  I  beheld  the 
magnanimous  pity  of  his  mien ;  maintaining,  however,  a  grave 
air,  I  said:  "I  thought  you  would  have  liked  to  have  seen 
Mdlle.  Henri  ?" 

"  Oh,  that  is  the  name !  Yes — if  it  would  be  convenient,  I 
should  like  to  see  her — but "  He  hesitated. 

"Well?" 

"  I  should  on  no  account  wish  to  intrude." 

"  Come,  then,"  said  I.  We  set  out.  Hunsden  no  doubt  re- 
garded me  as  a  rash,  imprudent  man,  thus  to  show  my  poor 
little  grisette  sweetheart,  in  her  poor  little  unfurnished  grenier; 
but  he  prepared  to  act  the  real  gentleman,  having,  in  fact,  the 
kernel  of  that  character  under  the  harsh  husk  it  pleased  him 
to  wear  by  way  of  mental  mackintosh.  He  talked  affably,  and 
even  gently,  as  we  went  along  the  street ;  he  had  never  been  so 
civil  to  me  in  his  life.  We  reached  the  house,  entered,  ascended 
the  stair ;  on  gaining  the  lobby,  Hunsden  turned  to  mount  a 
narrower  stair  which  led  to  a  higher  story ;  I  saw  his  mind  was 
bent  on  the  attics. 

"  Here,  Mr.  Hunsden,"  said  I,  quietly  tapping  at  Frances' 
door.  He  turned ;  in  his  genuine  politeness  he  was  a  little  dis- 
concerted at  having  made  the  mistake ;  his  eye  reverted  to  the 
green  mat,  but  he  said  nothing. 

We  walked  in,  and  Frances  rose  from  her  seat  near  the  table 
to  receive  us ;  her  mourning  attire  gave  her  a  recluse,  rather 
conventual,  but  withal  very  distinguished  look ;  its  grave  sim- 
plicity added  nothing  to  beauty,  but  much  to  dignity;  the 
finish  of  the  white  collar  and  manchettes  sufficed  for  a  relief  to 
the  merino  gown  of  solemn  black;  ornament  was  forsworn. 
Frances  curtsied  with  sedate  grace,  looking,  as  she  always  did, 
when  one  first  accosted  her,  more  a  woman  to  respect  than  to 
love ;  I  introduced  Mr.  Hunsden,  and  she  expressed  her  happi- 


THE  PROFESSOR.  209 

ness  at  making  his  acquaintance  in  French.  The  pure  and 
polished  accent,  the  low  yet  sweet  and  rather  full  voice,  pro- 
duced their  effect  immediately ;  Hunsden  spoke  French  in  reply ; 
I  had  not  heard  him  speak  that  language  before ;  he  managed 
it  very  well.  I  retired  to  the  window-seat ;  Mr.  Hunsden,  at 
his  hostess's  invitation,  occupied  a  chair  near  the  hearth ;  from 
my  position  I  could  see  them  both,  and  the  room  too,  at  a 
glance.  The  room  was  so  clean  and  bright,  it  looked  like  a 
little  polished  cabinet ;  a  glass  filled  with  flowers  in  the  centre 
of  the  table,  a  fresh  rose  in  each  china  cup  on  the  mantelpiece, 
gave  it  an  air  of  fete.  Frances  was  serious,  and  Mr.  Hunsden 
subdued,  but  both  mutually  polite ;  they  got  on  at  the  French 
swimmingly ;  ordinary  topics  were  discussed  with  great  state 
and  decorum ;  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  two  such  models  of 
propriety,  for  Hunsden  (thanks  to  the  constraint  of  the  foreign 
tongue)  was  obliged  to  shape  his  phrases,  and  measure  his  sen- 
tences, with  a  care  that  forbade  any  eccentricity.  At  last  Eng- 
land was  mentioned,  and  Frances  proceeded  to  ask  questions. 
Animated  by  degrees,  she  began  to  change,  just  as  a  grave  night- 
sky  changes  at  the  approach  of  sunrise  ;  first  it  seemed  as  if  her 
forehead  cleared,  then  her  eyes  glittered,  her  features  relaxed, 
and  became  quite  mobile ;  her  subdued  complexion  grew  warm 
and  transparent ;  to  me,  she  now  looked  pretty ;  before,  she  had 
only  looked  ladylike. 

She  had  many  things  to  say  to  the  Englishman  just  fresh 
from  his  island-country,  and  she  urged  him  with  an  enthusiasm 
of  curiosity  which  ere  long  thawed  Hunsden's  reserve  as  fire 
thaws  a  congealed  viper.  I  use  this  not  very  flattering  compar- 
ison because  he  vividly  reminded  me  of  a  snake  waking  from 
torpor,  as  he  erected  his  tall  form,  reared  his  head,  before  a  little 
declined,  and  putting  back  his  hair  from  his  broad  Saxon  fore- 
head, showed  unshaded  the  gleam  of  almost  savage  satire  which 
his  interlocutor's  tone  of  eagerness  and  look  of  ardor  had  sufficed 
at  once  to  kindle  in  his  soul  and  elicit  from  his  eyes :  he  was 
himself,  as  Frances  was  herself,  and  in  none  but  his  own  lan- 
guage would  he  now  address  her. 

"  You  understand  English  ?"  was  the  prefatory  question. 

"  A  little." 

"  Well,  then,  you  shall  have  plenty  of  it ;  and  first,  I  see 

14 


210  THE  PROFESSOR. 

you've  not  much  more  sense  than  some  others  of  my  acquaint- 
ance" (indicating  me  with  his  thumb),  "  or  else  you'd  never  turn 
rabid  about  that  dirty  little  country  called  England  ;  for  rabid 
I  see  you  are ;  I  read  Anglophobia  in  your  looks,  and  hear  it  in 
your  words.  Why,  Mademoiselle,  is  it  possible  that  anybody 
with  a  grain  of  rationality  should  feel  enthusiasm  about  a  mere 
name,  and  that  name  England  ?  I  thought  you  were  a  lady- 
abbess  five  minutes  ago,  and  respected  you  accordingly :  and 
now  I  see  you  are  a  sort  of  Swiss  sibyl,  with  high  Tory  and  high 
Church  principles  1" 

"  England  is  your  country  ?"  asked  Frances. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  don't  like  it  ?" 

"I'd  be  sorry  to  like  it!  A  little  corrupt,  venal,  lord- 
and-king-cursed  nation,  full  of  mucky  pride  (as  they  say  in 

— shire)  and  helpless  pauperism ;  rotten  with  abuses,  worm- 
eaten  with  prejudices ! " 

"  You  might  say  so  of  almost  every  state ;  there  are  abuses 
and  prejudices  everywhere,  and  I  thought  fewer  in  England 
than  in  other  countries." 

"  Come  to  England  and  see.  Come  to  Birmingham  and  Man- 
chester ;  come  to  St.  Giles's  in  London,  and  get  a  practical 
notion  of  how  our  system  works.  Examine  the  footprints  of 
our  august  aristocracy ;  see  how  they  walk  in  blood,  crushing 
hearts  as  they  go.  Just  put  your  head  in  at  English  cottage 
doors;  get  a  glimpse  of  Famine  crouched  torpid  on  black 
hearthstones ;  of  Disease  lying  bare  on  beds  without  coverlets  ; 
of  Infamy  wantoning  viciously  with  Ignorance,  though  indeed 
Luxury  is  her  favorite  paramour,  and  princely  halls  are  dearer 
to  her  than  thatched  hovels " 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  the  wretchedness  and  vice  in  England ; 
I  was  thinking  of  the  good  side — of  what  is  elevated  in  your 
character  as  a  nation." 

"  There  is  no  good  side — none  at  least  of  which  you  can 
have  any  knowledge;  for  you  cannot  appreciate  the  efforts 
of  industry,  the  achievements  of  enterprise,  or  the  discoveries 
of  science ;  narrowness  of  education  and  obscurity  of  position 
quite  incapacitate  you  from  understanding  those  points  ;  and 
as  to  historical  and  poetical  associations,  I  will  not  insult 


THE  PROFESSOR.  211 

you,  Mademoiselle,  by  supposing  that  you  alluded  to  such 
humbug." 

"  But  I  did  partly." 

Hunsden  laughed — his  laugh  of  unmitigated  scorn. 

"  I  did,  Mr.  Hunsden.  Are  you  of  the  number  of  those  to 
whom  such  associations  give  no  pleasure  ?" 

"  Mademoiselle,  what  is  an  association  ?  I  never  saw  one. 
What  is  its  length,  breadth,  weight,  value — ay,  value  f  What 
price  will  it  bring  in  the  market  ?" 

"  Your  portrait,  to  any  one  who  loved  you,  would,  for  the  sake 
of  association,  be  without  price." 

That  inscrutable  Hunsden  heard  this  remark  and  felt  it  rather 
acutely,  too,  somewhere ;  for  he  colored — a  thing  not  unusual 
with  him,  when  hit  unaAvares  on  a  tender  point.  A  sort  of 
trouble  momentarily  darkened  his  eye,  and  I  believe  he  filled 
up  the  transient  pause  succeeding  his  antagonist's  home-thrust, 
by  a  wish  that  some  one  did  love  him  as  he  would  like  to  be 
loved — some  one  whose  love  he  could  unreservedly  return. 

The  lady  pursued  her  temporary  advantage. 

"  If  your  world  is  a  world  without  associations,  Mi\  Hunsden, 
I  no  longer  wonder  that  you  hate  England  so.  1  don't  clearly 
know  what  Paradise  is,  and  what  angels  are ;  yet  taking  it  to  be 
the  most  glorious  region  I  can  conceive,  and  angels  the  most 
elevated  existences — if  one  of  them — if  Abdiel  the  Faithful  him- 
self" (she  was  thinking  of  Milton)  "were  suddenly  stripped  of 
the  faculty  of  association,  I  think  he  would  soon  rush  forth  from 
'the  ever-during  gates,'  leave  heaven,  and  seek  what  he  had  lost 
in  hell.  Yes,  in  the  very  hell  from  which  he  turned  'with 
retorted  scorn.'  " 

Frances'  tone  in  saying  this  was  as  marked  as  her  language, 
and  it  was  when  the  word  "  hell "  twanged  off  from  her  lips,  with 
a  somewhat  startling  emphasis,  that  Hunsden  deigned  to  bestow 
one  slight  glance  of  admiration.  He  liked  something  strong, 
whether  in  man  or  woman ;  he  liked  whatever  dared  to  clear 
conventional  limits.  He  had  never  before  heard  a  lady  say 
"  hell "  with  that  uncompromising  sort  of  accent,  and  the  sound 
pleased  him  from  a  lady's  lips ;  he  would  fain  have  had  Frances 
to  strike  the  string  again,  but  it  was  not  in  her  way.  The  dis- 
play of  eccentric  vigor  never  gave  her  pleasure,  and  it  only 


212  THE  PROFESSOR. 

sounded  in  her  voice  or  flashed  in  her  countenance  when  extra- 
ordinary circumstances — and  those  generally  painful — forced  it 
out  of  the  depths  where  it  burned  latent.  To  me,  once  or  twice, 
she  had,  in  intimate  conversation,  uttered  venturous  thoughts 
in  nervous  language ;  but  when  the  hour  of  such  manifestation 
was  past,  I  could  not  recall  it ;  it  came  of  itself  and  of  itself  de- 
parted. Hunsden's  excitations  she  put  by  soon  with  a  smile, 
and  recurring  to  the  theme  of  disputation,  said, "  Since  England 
is  nothing,  why  do  the  continental  nations  respect  her  so  ?" 

"  I  should  have  thought  no  child  would  have  asked  that  ques- 
tion," replied  Hunsden,  who  never  at  any  time  gave  information 
without  reproving  for  stupidity  those  who  asked  it  of  him.  "  If 
you  had  been  my  pupil,  as  I  suppose  you  once  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  be  that  of  a  deplorable  character  not  a  hundred  miles 
oflj  I  would  have  put  you  in  the  corner  for  such  a  confession  of 
ignorance.  Why,  Mademoiselle,  can't  you  see  that  it  is  our 
gold  which  buys  us  French  politeness,  German  good  will,  and 
Swiss  servility  ?"  And  he  sneered  diabolically. 

"  Swiss !"  said  Frances,  catching  the  word  "  servility."  "  Do 
you  call  my  countrymen  servile?"  And  she  started  up.  I 
could  not  suppress  a  low  laugh ;  there  was  ire  in  her  glance  and 
defiance  in  her  attitude.  "Do  you  abuse  Switzerland  to  me, 
Mr.  Hunsden  ?  Do  you  think  I  have  no  associations  ?  Do  you 
calculate  that  I  am  prepared  to  dwell  only  on  what  vice  and 
degradation  may  be  found  in  Alpine  villages,  and  to  leave  quite 
out  of  my  heart  the  social  greatness  of  my  countrymen,  and  our 
blood-earned  freedom,  and  the  natural  glories  of  our  mountains  ? 
You're  mistaken — you're  mistaken." 

"  Social  greatness  ?  Call  it  what  you  will,  your  countrymen 
are  sensible  fellows ;  they  make  a  marketable  article  of  what  to 
you  is  an  abstract  idea;  they  have  ere  this  sold  their  social 
greatness  and  also  their  blood-earned  freedom  to  be  the  servants 
of  foreign  kings." 

"  You  never  were  in  Switzerland  Tr 

u  Yes — I  have  been  there  twice." 

"  You  know  nothing  of  it." 

"I  do." 

"And  you  say  the  Swiss  are  mercenary,  as  a  parrot  says 
'Poor  Poll/  or  as  the  Belgians  here  say  the  English  are  not 


THE  PROFESSOR,  213 

brave,  or  as  the  French  accuse  them  of  being  perfidious.  There 
is  no  justice  in  your  dictums." 

"  There  is  truth." 

"  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Hunsden,  you  are  a  more  unpractical  man 
than  I  am  an  unpractical  -woman,  for  you  don't  acknowledge 
what  really  exists ;  you  want  to  annihilate  individual  patriot- 
ism and  national  greatness  as  an  athiest  would  annihilate  God 
and  his  own  soul,  by  denying  their  existence." 

"  Where  are  you  flying  to  ?  You  are  off  at  a  tangent.  I 
thought  we  were  talking  about  the  mercenary  nature  of  the 
Swiss." 

"  We  were ;  and  if  you  proved  to  me  that  the  Swiss  are  mer- 
cenary to-morrow  (which  you  cannot  do),  I  should  love  Switzer- 
land still." 

"  You  would  be  mad,  then, — mad  as  a  March  hare, — to  in- 
dulge in  a  passion  for  millions  of  shiploads  of  soil,  timber, 
snow,  and  ice." 

"  Not  so  mad  as  you  who  love  nothing." 

"  There's  a  method  in  my  madness ;  there's  none  in  yours." 

"Your  method  is  to  squeeze  the  sap  out  of  creation  and 
make  manure  of  the  refuse,  by  way  of  turning  it  to  what  you 
call  use." 

"  You  cannot  reason  at  all,"  said  Hunsden ; "  there  is  no  logic 
in  you." 

"  Better  to  be  without  logic  than  without  feeling,"  retorted 
Frances,  who  was  now  passing  backward  and  forward  from  her 
cupboard  to  the  table,  intent,  if  not  on  hospitable  thoughts,  at 
least  on  hospitable  deeds,  for  she  was  laying  the  cloth,  and  put- 
ting plates,  knives  and  forks  thereon. 

"  Is  that  a  hit  at  me,  Mademoiselle  ?  Do  you  suppose  I  am 
without  feeling  ?" 

"  I  suppose  you  are  always  interfering  with  your  own  feel- 
ings, and  those  of  other  people,  and  dogmatizing  about  the 
irrationality  of  this,  that,  and  the  other  sentiment,  and  then 
ordering  it  to  be  suppressed  because  you  imagine  it  to  be  incon- 
sistent with  logic." 

"  I  do  right." 

Frances  had  stepped  out  of  sight  into  a  sort  of  little  pantry ; 
she  soon  reappeared. 


214  THE  PROFESSOR. 

"  You  do  right  ?  Indeed,  no  !  You  are  much  mistaken  if 
you  think  so.  Just  be  so  good  as  to  let  me  get  to  the  fire,  Mr. 
Hunsden ;  I  have  something  to  cook."  (An  interval  occupied 
in  settling  a  casserole  on  the  fire ;  then,  while  she  stirred  its 
contents) :  "  Right !  as  if  it  were  right  to  crush  any  pleasurable 
sentiment  that  God  has  given  to  man,  especially  any  sentiment 
that,  like  patriotism,  spreads  man's  selfishness  in  wider  circles" 
(fire  stirred,  dish  put  down  before  it). 

"  Were  you  born  in  Switzerland  ?" 

"I  should  think  so,  or  else,  why  should  I  call  it  my 
country  ?" 

"  And  pray  where  did  you  get  your  English  features  and 
figure  ?" 

"  I  am  English  too  ;  half  the  blood  in  my  veins  is  English ; 
thus  I  have  a  right  to  a  double  power  of  patriotism,  possessing 
an  interest  in  two  noble,  free,  and  fortunate  countries." 

"You  had  an  English  mother?" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  and  you,  I  suppose,  had  a  mother  from  the  moon 
or  from  Utopia,  since  not  a  nation  in  Europe  has  a  claim  on 
your  interest  ?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  I'm  a  universal  patriot,  if  you  could  under- 
stand me  rightly.  My  country  is  the  world." 

"  Sympathies  so  widely  diffused  must  be  very  shallow.  Will 
you  have  the  goodness  to  come  to  table?  Monsieur"  Cto  me, 
who  appeared  to  be  now  absorbed  in  reading  by  moonlight) — 
"  Monsieur,  supper  is  served." 

This  was  said  in  quite  a  different  voice  to  that  in  which  she 
had  been  bandying  phrases  with  Mr.  Hunsden, — not  so  short, 
graver,  and  softer. 

"  Frances,  what  do  you  mean  by  preparing  supper  ?  We  had 
no  intention  of  staying." 

"Ah,  Monsieur,  but  you  have  stayed,  and  supper  is  pre- 
pared ;  you  have  only  the  alternative  of  eating  it." 

The  meal  was  a  foreign  one,  of  course ;  it  consisted  of  two 
small  but  tasty  dishes  of  meat  prepared  with  skill  and  served 
with  nicety ;  a  salad  and  "  fromage  franyais"  completed  it.  The 
business  of  eating  interposed  a  brief  truce  between  the  bellig- 
erents, but  no  sooner  was  supper  disposed  of  than  they  were  at 
it  again.  The  fresh  subject  of  dispute  ran  on  the  spirit  of  reli- 


THE  PROFESSOR.  215 

gious  intolerance  which  Mr.  Hunsden  affirmed  to  exist  strongly 
in  Switzerland,  notwithstanding  the  professed  attachment  of  the 
Swiss  to  freedom.  Here  Frances  had  greatly  the  worst  of  it, 
not  only  because  she  was  unskilled  to  argue,  but  because  her 
own  real  opinions  on  the  point  in  question  happened  to  coincide 
pretty  nearly  with  Mr.  Hunsden's,  and  she  only  contradicted 
him  out  of  opposition.  At  last  she  gave  in,  confessing  that  she 
thought  as  he  thought,  but  bidding  him  take  notice  that  she 
did  not  consider  herself  beaten. 

"  No  more  did  the  French  at  Waterloo,"  said  Hunsden. 

"  There  is  no  comparison  between  the  cases,"  rejoined 
Frances ;  "  mine  was  a  sham  fight." 

"  Sham  or  real,  it's  up  with  you." 

"  No ;  though  I  have  neither  logic  nor  wealth  of  words,  yet 
in  a  case  where  my  opinion  really  differed  from  yours,  I  would 
adhere  to  it  when  I  had  not  another  word  to  say  in  its  defence ; 
you  should  be  baffled  by  dumb  determination.  You  speak  of 
Waterloo ;  your  Wellington  ought  to  have  been  conquered 
there,  according  to  Napoleon ;  but  he  persevered  in  spite  of  the 
laws  of  war,  and  was  victorious  in  defiance  of  military  tactics. 
I  would  do  as  he  did." 

"  I'll  be  bound  for  it  you  would ;  probably  you  have  some  of 
the  same  sort  of  stubborn  stuff  in  you." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  if  I  had  not ;  he  and  Tell  were  brothers, 
and  I'd  scorn  the  Swiss,  man  or  woman,  who  had  none  of  the 
much-enduring  nature  of  our  heroic  William  in  his  soul." 

"  If  Tell  was  like  Wellington,  he  was  an  ass." 

"  Does  not  ass  mean  baudet  ?"  asked  Frances,  turning  to  me. 

" No,  no,"  replied  I ;  "it  means  an  esprit-fort.  And  now,"  I 
continued,  as  I  saw  that  fresh  occasion  of  strife  was  brewing 
between  these  two,  "  it  is  high  time  to  go." 

Hunsden  rose. 

"Good-bye,"  said  he  to  Frances;  "I  shall  be  off  for  this  glori- 
ous England  to-morrow,  and  it  may  be  twelve  months  or  more 
before  I  come  to  Brussels  again  ;  whenever  I  do  come,  I'll  seek 
you  out,  and  you  shall  see  if  I  don't  find  means  to  make  you 
fiercer  than  a  dragon.  You've  done  pretty  well  this  evening, 
but  next  interview  you  shall  challenge  me  outright.  Meantime 
you're  doomed  to  become  Mrs.  William  Crimsworth,  I  suppose; 


216  THE  PROFESSOR. 

poor  young  lady !  but  you  have  a  spark  of  spirit ;  cherish  it, 
and  give  the  Professor  the  full  benefit  thereof." 

"  Are  you  married,  Mr.  Hunsden  ?"  asked  Frances,  suddenly. 

"  No.  I  should  have  thought  you  might  have  guessed  I  was 
a  Benedict  by  my  look." 

"  "Well,  whenever  you  marry,  don't  take  a  wife  out  of  Switzer- 
land ;  for  if  you  begin  blaspheming  Helvetia,  and  cursing  the 
cantons — above  all,  if  you  mention  the  word  ass  in  the  same 
breath  with  the  name  Tell  (for  ass  is  baudet,  I  know ;  though 
Monsieur  is  pleased  to  translate  it  esprit-fori),  your  mountain 
maid  will  some  night  smother  her  Breton-bretonnant,  even  as 
your  own  Shakspeare's  Othello  smothered  Desdemona." 

"  I  am  warned,"  said  Hunsden ;  "  and  so  are  you,  lad,"  (nod- 
ding to  me).  "  I  hope  yet  to  hear  of  a  travesty  of  the  Moor 
and  his  gentle  lady,  in  which  the  parts  shall  be  reversed  accord- 
ing to  the  plan  just  sketched — you,  however,  being  in  my  night- 
cap. Farewell,  Mademoiselle !" 

He  bowed  on  her  hand,  absolutely  like  Sir  Charles  Grandison 
on  that  of  Harriet  Byron ;  adding — "  Death  from  such  fingers 
would  not  be  without  charms." 

"  Mon  Dieu !"  murmured  Frances,  opening  her  large  eyes 
and  lifting  her  distinctly-arched  brows;  "c'est  qu'il  fait  des 
compliments !  je  ne  m'y  suis  pas  attendu." 

She  smiled,  half  in  ire,  half  in  mirth,  curtsied  with  foreign 
grace,  and  so  they  parted. 

No  sooner  had  we  got  into  the  street  than  Hunsden  collared 
me. 

"  And  that  is  your  lace-mender?"  said  he ;  "  and  you  reckon 
you  have  done  a  fine,  magnanimous  thing  in  offering  to  marry 
her  ?  You,  a  scion  of  Seacombe,  have  proved  your  disdain  of 
social  distinctions  by  taking  up  with  an  ouvri&ref  And  I 
pitied  the  fellow,  thinking  his  feelings  had  misled  him,  and  that 
he  had  hurt  himself  by  contracting  a  low  match !" 

"  Just  let  go  my  collar,  Hunsden." 

On  the  contrary,  he  swayed  me  to  and  fro ;  so  I  grappled  him 
round  the  waist.  It  was  dark  ;  the  street  lonely  and  lampless. 
"We  had  then  a  tug  for  it ;  and  after  we  had  both  rolled  on  the 
pavement,  and  with  difficulty  picked  ourselves  up,  we  agreed  to 
walk  on  more  soberly. 


THE  PROFESSOR.  217 

"  Yes,  that's  my  lace-mender,"  said  I ;  "  and  she  is  to  be  mine 
for  life — God  willing." 

"  God  is  not  willing — you  can't  suppose  it ;  what  business 
have  you  to  be  suited  so  well  with  a  partner  ?  And  she  treats 
you  with  a  sort  of  respect,  too,  and  says,  '  Monsieur,'  and  mod- 
ulates her  tone  in  addressing  you,  actually,  as  if  you  were 
something  superior !  She  could  not  evince  more  deference  to 
such  a  one  as  I,  were  she  favored  by  fortune  to  the  supreme 
extent  of  being  my  choice  instead  of  yours." 

"  Hunsden,  you're  a  puppy.  But  you've  only  seen  the  title- 
page  of  my  happiness ;  you  don't  know  the  tale  that  follows ; 
you  cannot  conceive  the  interest  and  sweet  variety  and  thrilling 
excitement  of  the  narrative." 

Hunsden — speaking  low  and  deep,  for  we  had  now  entered  a 
busier  street — desired  me  to  hold  my  peace,  threatening  to  do 
something  dreadful  if  I  stimulated  his  wrath  further  by  boast- 
ing. I  laughed  till  my  sides  ache,d.  We  soon  reached  his 
hotel ;  before  he  entered  it,  he  said — "  Don't  be  vainglorious. 
Your  lace-mender  is  too  good  for  you,  but  not  good  enough  for 
me ;  neither  physically  nor  morally  does  she  come  up  to  my 
ideal  of  a  woman.  No ;  I  dream  of  something  far  beyond  that 
pale-faced,  excitable  little  Helvetian  (by-the-by  she  has  infin- 
itely more  of  the  nervous,  mobile  Parisienne  in  her  than  of  the 
robust '  Jungfrau ').  Your  Mdlle.  Henri  is  in  person  che"tive, 
in  mind  sans  caractere,  compared  with  the  queen  of  my  visions. 
You,  indeed,  may  put  up  with  that  minois  chiffonne ;  but  when 
I  marry  I  must  have  straighter  and  more  harmonious  features, 
to  say  nothing  of  a  nobler  and  better  developed  shape  than 
that  perverse,  ill-thriven  child  can  boast." 

"  Bribe  a  seraph  to  fetch  you  a  coal  of  fire  from  heaven,  if 
you  will,"  said  I,  "  and  with  it  kindle  life  in  the  tallest,  fattest, 
most  boneless,  fullest-blooded  of  Rubens'  painted  women — leave 
me  only  my  Alpine  Peri,  and  I'll  not  envy  you." 

With  a  simultaneous  movement,  each  turned  his  back  on  the 
other.  Neither  said  "  God  bless  you ;"  yet  on  the  morrow  the 
sea  was  to  roll  between  us. 


218  THE  PROFESSOR, 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

IN  two  months  more  Frances  had  fulfilled  the  time  of  mourn- 
ing for  her  aunt.  One  January  morning — the  first  of  the 
new  year  holidays — I  went  in  a  fiacre,  accompanied  only  by  M. 
Vandenhuten,  to  the  Rue  Notre  Dame  aux  Neiges,  and  having 
alighted  alone  and  walked  up  stairs,  I  found  Frances  appa- 
rently waiting  for  me,  dressed  in  a  style  scarcely  appropriate 
to  that  cold,  bright,  frosty  day.  Never  till  now  had  I  seen  her 
attired  in  any  other  than  black  or  sad-colored  stuff;  and  there 
she  stood  by  the  window,  clad  all  in  white,  and  white  of  a  most 
diaphanous  texture ;  her  array  was  very  simple,  to  be  sure,  but 
it  looked  imposing  and  festal  because  it  was  so  clear,  full,  and 
floating ;  a  veil  shadowed  her  head,  and  hung  below  her  knee ; 
a  little  wreath  of  pink  flowers  fastened  it  to  her  thickly-tressed 
Grecian  plait,  and  thence  it  fell  softly  on  each  side  of  her  face. 
Singular  to  state,  she  was  or  had  been  crying :  when  I  asked 
her  if  she  were  ready,  she  said,  "  Yes,  Monsieur,"  with  some- 
thing very  like  a  checked  sob ;  and  when  I  took  a  shawl  which 
lay  on  the  table,  and  folded  it  round  her,  not  only  did  tear  after 
tear  course  unbidden  down  her  cheek,  but  she  shook  to  my  min- 
istration like  a  reed.  I  said  I  was  sorry  to  see  her  in  such  low 
spirits,  and  requested  to  be  allowed  an  insight  into  the  origin 
thereof.  She  only  said,  "  It  was  impossible  to  help  it,"  and  then 
voluntarily,  though  hurriedly,  putting  her  hand  into  mine, 
accompanied  me  out  of  the  room,  and  ran  down  stairs  with 
a  quick,  uncertain  step,  like  one  who  was  eager  to  get  some  for- 
midable piece  of  business  over.  I  put  her  into  the  fiacre.  M. 
Vandenhuten  received  her,  and  seated  her  beside  himself;  we 
drove  all  together  to  the  Protestant  chapel,  went  through  a  cer- 
tain service  in  the  Common  Prayer  Book,  and  she  and  I  came 
out  married.  M.  Vandenhuten  had  given  the  bride  away. 

We  took  no  bridal  trip ;  our  modesty,  screened  by  the  peace- 
ful obscurity  of  our  station,  and  the  pleasant  isolation  of  our 
circumstances,  did  not  exact  that  additional  precaution.  We 
repaired  at  once  to  a  small  house  I  had  taken  in  the  faubourg 


THE  PROFESSOR.  219 

nearest  to  that  part  of  the  city  where  the  scene  of  our  avoca- 
tions lay. 

Three  or  four  hours  after  the  wedding  ceremony,  Frances, 
divested  of  her  bridal  snow,  and  attired  in  a  pretty  lilac  gown 
of  warmer  materials,  a  piquant  black  silk  apron,  and  a  lace 
collar  with  some  finishing  decorations  of  lilac  ribbon,  was  kneel- 
ing on  the  carpet  of  a  neatly-furnished  though  not  spacious 
parlor,  arranging  on  the  shelves  of  a  chiffoniere  some  books 
which  I  handed  to  her  from  the  table.  It  was  snowing  fast  out 
of  doors ;  the  afternoon  had  turned  out  wild  and  cold ;  the 
leaden  sky  seemed  full  of  drifts,  and  the  street  was  already 
ankle-deep  in  the  white  downfall.  Our  fire  burned  bright,  our 
new  habitation  looked  brilliantly  clean  and  fresh,  the  furniture 
was  all  arranged,  and  there  were  but  some  articles  of  glass, 
china,  books,  &c.,  to  put  in  order.  Frances  found  in  this  busi- 
ness occupation  till  tea-time,  and  then,  after  I  had  distinctly  in- 
structed her  how  to  make  a  cup  of  tea  in  rational  English 
style,  and  after  she  had  got  over  the  dismay  occasioned  by 
seeing  such  an  extravagant  amount  of  material  put  into  the 
pot,  she  administered  to  me  a  proper  British  repast,  at  which 
there  wanted  neither  candles  nor  urn,  firelight  nor  comfort. 

Our  week's  holiday  glided  by,  and  we  re-addressed  ourselves 
to  labor.  Both  my  wife  and  I  began  in  good  earnest  with  the 
notion  that  we  were  working  people,  destined  to  earn  our  bread 
by  exertion,  and  that  of  the  most  assiduous  kind.  Our  days 
were  fully  occupied ;  we  used  to  part  every  morning  at  eight 
o'clock,  and  not  meet  again  till  five  P.M.  ;  but  into  what  sweet 
rest  did  the  turmoil  of  each  busy  day  decline !  Looking  down 
the  vista  of  memory,  I  see  the  evenings  passed  in  that  little 
parlor  like  a  long  string  of  rubies  circling  the  dusk  brow  of  the 
past.  Unvaried  were  they  as  each  cut  gem,  and  like  each  gem 
brilliant  and  burning. 

A  year  and  a  half  passed.  One  morning  (it  was  a  fite,  and 
we  had  the  day  to  ourselves)  Frances  said  to  me,  with  a  sud- 
denness peculiar  to  her  when  she  had  been  thinking  loag  on  a 
subject,  and  at  last,  having  come  to  a  conclusion,  wished  to  test 
its  soundness  by  the  touchstone  of  my  judgment :  "  I  don't  work 
enough." 

"  What  now  ?"  demanded  I,  looking  up  from  my  coffee,  which 


220  THE  PROFESSOR. 

I  had  been  deliberately  stirring,  while  enjoying,  in  anticipation, 
a  walk  I  proposed  to  take  with  Frances,  that  fine  summer  day 
(it  was  June),  to  a  certain  farmhouse  in  the  country,  where  we 
were  to  dine.  "  What  now  ?"  and  I  saw  at  once,  in  the  serious 
ardor  of  her  face,  a  project  of  vital  importance. 

"  I  am  not  satisfied,"  returned  she ;  "  you  are  now  earning 
eight  thousand  francs  a  year"  (it  was  true;  my  efforts,  punc- 
tuality, the  fame  of  my  pupils'  progress,  the  publicity  of  my 
station,  had  so  far  helped  me  on),  "  while  I  am  still  at  my 
miserable  twelve  hundred  francs.  I  can  do  better,  and  I  will." 

"  You  work  as  long  and  as  diligently  as  I  do,  Frances." 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,  but  I  am  not  working  in  the  right  way,  and 
I  am  convinced  of  it." 

"  You  wish  to  change — you  have  a  plan  for  progress  in  your 
mind ;  go  and  put  on  your  bonnet ;  and,  while  we  take  our 
walk,  you  shall  tell  me  of  it." 

"Yes,  Monsieur." 

She  went — as  docile  as  a  well-trained  child ;  she  was  a 
curious  mixture  of  tractability  and  firmness ;  I  sat  thinking 
about  her,  and  wondering  what  her  plan  could  be,  when  she  re- 
entered. 

"  Monsieur,  I  have  given  Minnie  "  (our  bonne)  "  leave  to  go 
out  too,  as  it  is  so  very  fine ;  so  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  lock 
the  door,  and  take  the  key  with  you  ?" 

"  Kiss  me,  Mrs.  Crimsworth,"  was  my  not  very  apposite  reply ; 
but  she  looked  so  engaging  in  her  light  summer  dress  and  little 
cottage  bonnet,  and  her  manner  in  speaking  to  me  was  then,  as 
always,  so  unaffectedly  and  suavely  respectful,  that  my  heart 
expanded  at  the  sight  of  her,  and  a  kiss  seemed  necessary  to 
content  its  importunity. 

"  There,  Monsieur." 

"  "Why  do  you  always  call  me  '  Monsieur  ?'     Say,  "William." 

" I  cannot  pronounce  your  W ;  besides,  'Monsieur'  belongs 
to  you ;  I  like  it  best." 

Minnie  having  departed  in  clean  cap  and  smart  shawl,  we, 
too,  set  out,  leaving  the  house  solitary  and  silent — silent,  at 
least,  but  for  the  ticking  of  the  clock.  We  were  soon  clear  of 
Brussels ;  the  fields  received  us,  and  then  the  lanes,  remote  from 
carriage-resounding  chaussees.  Ere  long  we  came  upon  a  nook, 


THE  PROFESSOR.  221 

BO  rural,  green,  and  secluded,  it  might  have  been  a  spot  in  some 
pastoral  English  province ;  a  bank  of  short  and  mossy  grass, 
under  a  hawthorn,  offered  a  seat  too  tempting  to  be  declined ; 
we  took  it,  and  when  we  had  admired  and  examined  some 
English-looking  wild-flowers  growing  at  our  feet,  I  recalled 
Frances'  attention  and  my  own  to  the  topic  touched  on  at 
breakfast. 

"  What  was  her  plan  ?"  A  natural  one — the  next  step  to  be 
mounted  by  us,  or,  at  least,  by  her,  if  she  wanted  to  rise  in  her 
profession.  She  proposed  to  begin  a  school.  We  already  had 
the  means  for  commencing  on  a  careful  scale,  having  lived 
greatly  within  our  income.  We  possessed,  too,  by  this  time,  an 
extensive  and  eligible  connection,  in  the  sense  advantageous  to 
our  business ;  for,  though  our  circle  of  visiting  -acquaintance 
continued  as  limited  as  ever,  we  were  now  widely  known  in 
schools  and  families  as  teachers.  When  Frances  had  developed 
her  plan,  she  intimated,  in  some  closing  sentences,  her  hopes  for 
the  future.  If  we  only  had  good  health  and  tolerable  success, 
we  might,  she  was  sure,  in  time  realize  an  independency  ;  and 
that,  perhaps,  before  we  were  too  old  to  enjoy  it ;  then  both  she 
and  I  would  rest ;  and  what  was  to  hinder  us  from  going  to  live 
in  England  ?  England  was  still  her  Promised  Land. 

I  put  no  obstacle  in  her  way ;  raised  no  objection ;  I  knew  she 
was  not  one  who  could  live  quiescent  and  inactive,  or  even  com- 
paratively inactive.  Duties  she  must  have  to  fulfil,  and  import- 
ant duties  ;  work  to  do — an  exciting,  absorbing,  profitable  work ; 
strong  faculties  stirred  in  her  frame,  and  they  demanded  full 
nourishment,  free  exercise :  mine  was  not  the  hand  ever  to  starve 
or  cramp  them ;  no,  I  delighted  in  offering  them  sustenance,  and 
in  clearing  them  wider  space  for  action. 

"  You  have  conceived  a  plan,  Frances,"  said  I,  "  and  a  good 
plan ;  execute  it ;  you  have  my  free  consent,  and  wherever  and 
whenever  my  assistance  is  wanted,  ask  and  you  shall  have." 

Frances'  eyes  thanked  me  almost  with  tears ;  just  a  sparkle  or 
two,  soon  brushed  away ;  she  possessed  herself  of  my  hand  too, 
and  held  it  for  some  time  very  closely  clasped  in  both  her  own, 
but  she  said  no  more  than  "  Thank  you,  Monsieur." 

We  passed  a  divine  day,  and  came  home  late,  lighted  by  a  full 
summer  moon. 


222  TEE  PROFESSOR. 

Ten  years  rushed  now  upon  me  with  dusty,  vibrating,  unrest- 
ing wings;  years  of  bustle,  action,  unslacked  endeavor;  years  in 
which  I  and  my  wife,  having  launched  ourselves  in  the  full 
career  of  progress,  as  progress  whirls  on  in  European  capitals, 
scarcely  knew  repose,  were  strangers  to  amusement,  never 
thought  of  indulgence,  and  yet,  as  our  course  ran  side  by  side, 
as  we  marched  hand  in  hand,  we  neither  murmured,  repented, 
nor  faltered.  Hope  indeed  cheered  us  ;  health  kept  us  up ;  har- 
mony of  thought  and  deed  smoothed  many  difficulties,  and 
finally,  success  bestowed  every  now  and  then  encouraging 
reward  on  diligence.  Our  school  became  one  of  the  most  popu- 
lar in  Brussels,  and  as  by  degrees  we  raised  our  terms  and 
elevated  our  system  of  education,  our  choice  of  pupils  grew  more 
select,  and  afc  length  included  the  children  of  the  best  families 
in  Belgium.  We  had,  too,  an  excellent  connection  in  England, 
first  opened  by  the  unsolicited  recommendation  of  Mr.  Hunsden, 
who,  having  been  over,  and  having  abused  me  for  my  prosperity 
in  set  terms,  went  back,  and  soon  after  sent  a  leash  of  young 

• shire  heiresses — his  cousins,  as  he  said,  "  to  be  polished  off 

by  Mrs.  Crimsworth." 

As  to  this  same  Mrs.  Crimsworth,  in  one  sense  she  was  become 
another  woman,  though  in  another  she  remained  unchanged. 
So  different  was  she  under  different  circumstances,  I  seemed  to 
possess  two  wives.  The  faculties  of  her  nature,  already  disclosed 
when  I  married  her,  remained  fresh  and  fair ;  but  other  facul- 
ties shot  up  strongly,  branched  out  broadly,  and  quite  altered 
the  external  character  of  the  plant.  Firmness,  activity,  and 
enterprise  covered  with  grave  foliage  poetic  feeling  and  fervor ; 
but  these  flowers  were  still  there,  preserved  pure  and  dewy 
under  the  umbrage  of  later  growth  and  hardier  nature ;  perhaps 
I  only  in  the  world  knew  the  secret  of  their  existence,  but  to 
me  they  were  ever  ready  to  yield  an  exquisite  fragrance  and 
present  a  beauty  as  chaste  as  radiant. 

In  the  daytime  my  house  and  establishment  were  conducted 
by  Madame  the  directress,  a  stately  and  elegant  woman,  bearing 
much  anxious  thought  on  her  large  brow ;  much  calculated  dig- 
nity in  her  serious  mien.  Immediately  after  breakfast  I  used  to 
part  with  this  lady ;  I  went  to  my  college,  she  to  her  school- 
room ;  returning  for.  an  hour  hi  the  course  of  the  day,  I  found 


THE  PROFESSOR.  223 

her  always  in  class,  intently  occupied ;  silence,  industry,  observ- 
ance, attending  on  her  presence.  When  not  actually  teaching, 
she  was  overlooking  and  guiding  by  eye  and  gesture ;  she  then 
appeared  vigilant  and  solicitous.  When  communicating  in- 
struction, her  aspect  was  more  animated ;  she  seemed  to  feel  a 
certain  enjoyment  in  the  occupation.  The  language  in  which 
she  addressed  her  pupils,  though  simple  and  unpretending,  was 
never  trite  or  dry ;  she  did  not  speak  from  routine  formulas — 
she  made  her  own  phrases  as  she  went  on,  and  very  nervous  and 
impressive  phrases  they  frequently  were ;  often,  when  elucidating 
favorite  points  of  history  or  geography,  she  would  wax  genuinely 
eloquent  in  her  earnestness.  Her  pupils,  or  at  least  the  elder 
and  more  intelligent  amongst  them,  recognized  well  the  language 
of  a  superior  mind ;  they  felt,  too,  and  some  of  them  received,  the 
impression  of  elevated  sentiments ;  there  was  little  fondling  be- 
tween mistress  and  girls,  but  some  of  Frances'  pupils  in  time 
learned  to  love  her  sincerely,  all  of  them  beheld  her  with 
respect ;  her  general  demeanor  towards  them  was  serious ;  some- 
times benignant  when  they  pleased  her  with  their  progress  and 
attention,  always  scrupulously  refined  and  considerate.  In  cases 
where  reproof  or  punishment  was  called  for,  she  was  usually  for- 
bearing enough  ;  but  if  any  took  advantage  of  that  forbearance, 
which  sometimes  happened,  a  sharp,  sudden  and  lightning-like 
severity  taught  the  culprit  the  extent  of  the  mistake  committed. 
Sometimes  a  gleam  of  tenderness  softened  her  eyes  and  manner, 
but  this  was  rare ;  only  when  a  pupil  was  sick,  or  when  it  pined 
after  home,  or  in  the  case  of  some  little  motherless  child,  or  of 
one  much  poorer  than  its  companions,  whose  scanty  wardrobe 
and  mean  appointments  brought  on  it  the  contempt  of  the 
jewelled  young  countesses  and  silk-clad  misses.  Over  such 
feeble  fledglings  the  directress  spread  a  wing  of  kindliest  pro- 
tection. It  was  to  their  bedside  she  came  at  night  to  tuck  them 
warmly  in  ;  it  was  after  them  she  looked  in  winter,  to  see  that 
they  always  had  a  comfortable  seat  by  the  stove ;  it  was  they 
who  by  turns  were  summoned  to  the  salon  to  receive  some  little 
dole  of  cake  or  fruit — to  sit  on  a  footstool  at  the  fireside — to 
enjoy  home  comforts,  and  almost  home  liberty,  for  an  evening 
together — to  be  spoken  to  gently  and  softly,  comforted,  encour- 
aged, cherished  ;  and  when  bedtime  came,  dismissed  with  a  kiss 


224  THE  PROFESSOR. 

of  true    tenderness.     As    to    Julia    and    Georgiana  G , 

daughters  of  an   English  baronet,  as  to  Mdlle.  Mathilde  de 

,  heiress  of  a  Belgian  count,  and  sundry  other  children  of 

patrician  race,  the  directress  was  careful  of  them  as  of  the 
others,  anxious  for  their  progress,  as  for  that  of  the  rest ;  but  it 
never  seemed  to  enter  her  head  to  distinguish  them  by  a  mark 
of  preference.  One  girl  of  noble  blood  she  loved  dearly — a 

young  Irish  baroness — Lady  Catherine ;  but  it  was  for  her 

enthusiastic  heart  and  clever  head,  for  her  generosity  and  her 
genius — the  title  and  rank  went  for  nothing. 

My  afternoons  were  spent  also  in  college,  with  the  exception 
of  an  hour  that  my  wife  daily  exacted  of  me  for  her  establish- 
ment, and  with  which  she  would  not  dispense.  She  said  that  I 
must  spend  that  time  among  her  pupils  to  learn  their  charac- 
ters, to  be  au  courant  with  everything  that  was  passing  in  the 
house,  to  become  interested  in  what  interested  her,  to  be  able  to 
give  her  my  opinion  on  knotty  points  when  she  required  it,  and 
this  she  did  constantly,  never  allowing  my  interest  in  the  pupils 
to  fall  asleep,  and  never  making  any  change  of  importance 
without  my  cognizance  and  consent.  She  delighted  to  sit  by 
me  when  I  gave  my  lessons  (lessons  in  literature),  her  hands 
folded  on  her  knee,  the  most  fixedly  attentive  of  any  present. 
She  rarely  addressed  me  in  class  ;  when  she  did,  it  was  with  an 
air  of  marked  deference  ;  it  was  her  pleasure,  her  joy,  to  make 
me  still  the  master  of  all  things. 

At  six  o'clock  P.M.  my  daily  labors  ceased.  I  then  came 
home,  for  my  home  was  my  heaven.  Ever  at  that  hour,  as  I 
entered  our  private  sitting-room,  the  lady-directress  vanished 
from  before  my  eyes,  and  Frances  Henri,  my  own  little  lace- 
mender,  was  magically  restored  to  my  arms.  Much  disappointed 
she  would  have  been  if  her  master  had  not  been  as  constant  to 
the  tryste  as  herself,  and  if  his  truthful  kiss  had  not  been 
prompt  to  answer  her  soft  "  Bon  soir,  Monsieur !" 

Talk  French  to  me  she  would,  and  many  a  punishment  she  has 
had  for  her  wilfulness.  I  fear  the  choice  of  chastisement  must 
have  been  injudicious,  for  instead  of  correcting  the  fault,  it 
seemed  to  encourage  its  renewal.  Our  evenings  were  our  own  ; 
that  recreation  was  necessary  to  refresh  our  strength  for  the 
due  discharge  of  our  duties.  Sometimes  we  spent  them  all  in 


THE  PROFESSOR.  225 

conversation,  and  my  young  Genevese,  now  that  she  was  tho- 
roughly accustomed  to  her  English  professor,  now  that  she 
loved  him  too  absolutely  to  fear  him  much,  reposed  in  him  a 
confidence  so  unlimited,  that  topics  of  conversation  could  no 
more  be  Avanting  with  him  than  subjects  for  communion  with 
her  own  heart.  In  those  moments,  happy  as  a  bird  with  its 
mate,  she  would  show  me  what  she  had  of  vivacity,  of  mirth, 
of  originality,  in  her  well-dowered  nature.  She  would  show, 
too,  some  stores  of  raillery,  of  "  malice,"  and  would  vex,  tease, 
pique  me  sometimes  about  what  she  called  my  "bizarreries 
anglaises,"  my  "caprices  insulaires,"  with  a  wild  and  witty 
wickedness  that  made  a  perfect  white  demon  of  her  while  it 
lasted.  This  was  rare,  however,  and  the  elfish  freak  was  always 
short.  Sometimes,  when  driven  a  little  hard  in  the  war  of 
words, — for  her  tongue  did  ample  justice  to  the  pith,  the  point, 
the  delicacy  of  her  native  French,  in  which  language  she  always 
attacked  me, — I  used  to  turn  upon  her  with  my  old  decision, 
and  arrest  bodily  the  sprite  that  teased  me.  Vain  idea !  no 
sooner  had  I  grasped  hand  or  arm  than  the  elf  was  gone ;  the 
provocative  smile  quenched  in  the  expressive  brown  eyes,  and  a 
ray  of  gentle  homage  shone  under  the  lids  in  its  place.  I  had 
seized  a  mere  vexing  fairy,  and  found  a  submissive  and  suppli- 
cating little  mortal  woman  in  my  arms.  Then  I  made  her  get 
a  book,  and  read  English  to  me  for  an  hour,  by  way  of  pen- 
ance. I  frequently  dosed  her  with  Wordsworth  in  this  way, 
and  Wordsworth  steadied  her  soon ;  she  had  a  difficulty  in  com- 
prehending his  deep,  serene,  and  sober  mind  ;  his  language,  too, 
was  not  facile  to  her ;  she  had  to  ask  questions,  to  sue  for  ex- 
planation, to  be  like  a  child  and  a  novice,  and  to  acknowledge 
me  as  her  senior  and  director.  Her  instinct  instantly  penetrated 
and  possessed  the  meaning  of  more  ardent  and  imaginative 
writers.  Byron  excited  her  ;  Scott  she  loved ;  Wordsworth 
only  she  puzzled  at,  wondered  over,  and  hesitated  to  pronounce 
an  opinion  upon. 

But  whether  she  read  to  me,  or  talked  with  me ;  whether  she 
teased  me  in  French,  or  entreated  me  in  English ;  whether  she 
jested  with  wit,  or  inquired  with  deference ;  narrated  with  in- 
terest, or  listened  with  attention ;  whether  she  smiled  at  me  or 
on  me,  always  at  nine  o'clock  I  was  left — abandoned.  She 
15 


226  THE  PROFESSOR. 

would  extricate  herself  from  my  arms,  quit  my  side,  take  her 
lamp,  and  be  gone.  Her  mission  was  up  stairs ;  I  have  followed 
her  sometimes  and  watched  her.  First  she  opened  the  door  of 
the  dortoir  (the  pupils'  chamber),  noiselessly  she  glided  up  the 
long  room  between  the  two  rows  of  white  beds,  surveyed  all 
the  sleepers ;  if  any  were  wakeful,  especially  if  any  were  sad, 
spoke  to  them  and  soothed  them ;  stood  some  minutes  to  ascer- 
tain that  all  was  safe  and  tranquil ;  trimmed  the  watch-light 
which  burned  in  the  apartment  all  night,  then  withdrew,  closing 
the  door  behind  her  without  sound.  Thence  she  glided  to  our 
own  chamber ;  it  had  a  little  cabinet  within ;  this  she  sought ; 
there,  too,  appeared  a  bed,  but  one,  and  that  a  very  small  one ; 
her  face  (the  night  I  followed  and  observed  her)  changed  as  she 
approached  this  tiny  couch ;  from  grave  it  warmed  to  earnest ; 
she  shaded  with  one  hand  the  lamp  she  held  in  the  other ;  she 
bent  above  the  pillow  and  hung  over  a  child  asleep ;  its  slumber 
(that  evening  at  least,  and  usually,  I  believe)  was  sound  and 
calm ;  no  tear  wet  its  dark  eyelashes ;  no  fever  heated  its  round 
cheek ;  no  ill  dream  discomposed  its  budding  features.  Frances 
gazed,  she  did  not  smile,  and  yet  the  deepest  delight  filled, 
flushed  her  face ;  feeling,  pleasurable,  powerful,  worked  in  her 
whole  frame,  which  still  was  motionless.  I  saw,  indeed,  her 
heart  heave,  her  lips  were  a  little  apart,  her  breathing  grew 
somewhat  hurried ;  the  child  smiled ;  then  at  last  the  mother 
smiled  too,  and  said  in  a  low  soliloquy,  "  God  bless  my  little 
son !"  She  stooped  closer  over  him,  breathed  the  softest  of 
kisses  on  his  brow,  covered  his  minute  hand  with  hers,  and  at 
last  started  up  and  came  away.  I  regained  the  parlor  before 
her.  Entering  it  two  minutes  later,  she  said  quietly,  as  she  put 
down  her  extinguished  lamp,  "  Victor  rests  well :  he  smiled  in 
his  sleep ;  he  has  your  smile,  Monsieur." 

The  said  Victor  was  of  course  her  own  boy,  born  in  the  third 
year  of  our  marriage :  his  Christian  name  had  been  given  him 
in  honor  of  M.  Vandenhuten,  wh®  continued  always  our  trusty 
and  well-beloved  friend. 

Frances  was  then  a  good  and  dear  wife  to  me,  because  I  was 
to  her  a  good,  just,  and  faithful  husband.  What  she  would 
have  been  had  she  married  a  harsh,  envious,  careless  man — a 
profligate,  a  prodigal,  a  drunkard,  or  a  tyrant — is  another 


THE  PROFESSOR.  227 

question,  and  one  which  I  once  propounded  to  her.  Her 
answer,  given  after  some  reflection,  was — "  I  should  have  tried 
to  endure  the  evil  or  cure  it  for  a  while ;  and  when  I  found  it 
intolerable  and  incurable,  I  should  have  left  my  torturer  sud- 
denly and  silently." 

"  And  if  law  or  might  had  forced  you  back  again  ?" 

"  What !  to  a  drunkard,  a  profligate,  a  selfish  spendthrift,  an 
unjust  fool  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  would  have  gone  back  ;  again  assured  myself  whether  or 
not  his  vice  and  my  misery  were  capable  of  remedy;  and  if 
not,  have  left  him  again." 

"  And  if  again  forced  to  return,  and  compelled  to  abide  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  hastily.  "  Why  do  you  ask  me, 
Monsieur  ?" 

I  would  have  an  answer,  because  I  saw  a  strange  kind  of 
spirit  in  her  eye,  whose  voice  I  detei-mined  to  waken. 

"  Monsieur,  if  a  wife's  nature  loathes  that  of  the  man  she  is 
wedded  to,  marriage  must  be  slavery.  Against  slavery  all  right 
thinkers  revolt,  and  though  torture  be  the  price  of  resistance, 
torture  must  be  dared :  though  the  only  road  to  freedom  lie 
through  the  gates  of  death,  those  gates  must  be  passed;  for 
freedom  is  indispensable.  Then,  Monsieur,  I  would  resist  as 
far  as  my  strength  permitted ;  when  that  strength  failed,  I 
should  be  sure  of  a  refuge.  Death  would  certainly  screen  me 
both  from  bad  laws  and  their  consequences." 

"  Voluntary  death,  Frances  ?" 

"  No,  monsieur.  I'd  have  courage  to  live  out  every  throe  of 
anguish  fate  assigned  me,  and  principle  to  contend  for  justice 
and  liberty  to  the  last." 

"  I  see  you  would  have  made  no  patient  Grizzle.  And  now, 
supposing  Fate  had  merely  assigned  you  the  lot  of  an  old  maid, 
what  then  ?  How  would  you  have  liked  celibacy  ?" 

"  Not  much,  certainly.  An  old  maid's  life  must  doubtless  be 
void  and  vapid — her  heart  strained  and  empty.  Had  I  been 
an  old  maid,  I  should  have  spent  existence  in  efforts  to  fill  the 
void  and  ease  the  aching.  I  should  have  probably  failed,  and 
died  weary  and  disappointed,  despised  and  of  no  account,  like 
other  single  women.  But  I'm  not  an  old  maid,"  she  added 


228  THE  PROFESSOR. 

quickly.  "  I  should  have  been,  though,  but  for  my  master.  I 
should  never  have  suited  any  man  but  Professor  Crimsworth — 
no  other  gentleman,  French,  English,  or  Belgian,  would  have 
thought  me  amiable  or  handsome ;  and  I  doubt  whether  I  should 
have  cared  for  the  approbation  of  many  others,  if  I  could  have 
obtained  it.  Now,  I  have  been  Professor  Crimsworth's  wife 
eight  years,  and  what  is  he  in  my  eyes  ?  Is  he  honorable,  be- 
loved  ?"  She  stopped,  her  v<5ice  was  cut  off,  her  eyes  sud- 
denly suffused.  She  and  I  were  standing  side  by  side;  she 
threw  her  arms  round  me,  and  strained  me  to  her  heart  with 
passionate  earnestness ;  the  energy  of  her  whole  being  glowed 
in  her  dark  and  then  dilated  eye,  and  crimsoned  her  animated 
cheek :  her  look  and  movement  were  like  inspiration ;  in  one 
there  was  such  a  flash,  in  the  other  such  a  power.  Half-an- 
hour  afterwards,  when  she  had  become  calm,  I  asked  where 
all  that  wild  vigor  was  gone  which  had  transformed  her  ere- 
while  and  made  her  glance  so  thrilling  and  ardent — her  action 
so  rapid  and  strong.  She  looked  down,  smiling  softly  and 
passively; — "I  cannot  tell  where  it  is  gone,  Monsieur,"  said 
she ;  "  but  I  know  that,  whenever  it  is  wanted,  it  will  come 
back  again." 

Behold  us  now  at  close  of  ten  years,  and  we  have  realized 
an  independency.  The  rapidity  with  which  we  attained  this 
end  had  its  origin  in  three  reasons : — Firstly,  we  worked  so 
hard  for  it ;  secondly,  we  had  no  incumbrances  to  delay  success ; 
thirdly,  as  soon  as  we  had  capital  to  invest,  two  well-skilled 
counsellors,  one  in  Belgium,  one  in  England,  viz.,  Vandenhuten 
and  Hunsden,  gave  us  each  a  word  of  advice  as  to  the  sort  of 
investment  to  be  chosen.  The  suggestion  made  was  judicious ; 
and,  being  promptly  acted  on,  the  result  proved  gainful — I 
need  not  say  how  gainful ;  I  communicated  details  to  Messrs. 
Vandenhuten  and  Hunsden ;  nobody  else  can  be  interested  in 
hearing  them. 

Accounts  being  wound  up,  and  our  professional  connection 
disposed  of,  we  both  agreed  that,  as  mammon  was  not  our 
master,  nor  his  service  that  in  which  we  desired  to  spend  our 
lives  ;  as  our  desires  were  temperate,  and  our  habits  unostenta- 
tious, we  had  now  abundance  to  live  on — abundance  to  leave 
our  boy,  and  should,  besides,  always  have  a  balance  on  hand, 


THE  PROFESSOR.  229 

which,  properly  managed  by  right  sympathy  and  unselfish 
activity,  might  help  philanthropy  in  her  enterprises,  and  put 
solace  into  the  hand  of  charity. 

To  England  we  now  resolved  to  take  wing ;  we  arrived  there 
safely ;  Frances  realized  the  dream  of  her  lifetime.  We  spent 
a  whole  summer  and  autumn  in  travelling  from  end  to  end  of 
the  British  islands,  and  afterwards  passed  a  winter  in  London. 
Then  we  thought  it  high  time  to  fix  our  residence.  My  heart 

yearned  towards  my  native  county  of shire  ;  and  it  is  in 

shire  I  now  live ;  it  is  in  the  library  of  my  own  home  I  am 

now  writing.     That  home  lies  amid  a  sequestered  and  rather 

hilly  region,  thirty  miles  removed  from  X ;  a  region  whose 

verdure  the  smoke  of  mills  has  not  yet  sullied,  whose  waters  still 
run  pure,  whose  swells  of  moorland  preserve  in  some  ferny  glens 
that  lie  between  them  the  very  primal  wildness  of  nature,  her 
moss,  her  bracken,  her  bluebells,  her  scents  of  reed  and  heather, 
her  free  and  fresh  breezes.  My  house  is  a  picturesque  and  not 
too  spacious  dwelling,  with  low  and  long  windows,  a  trellised 
and  leaf-veiled  porch  over  the  front  door,  just  now,  on  this 
summer  evening,  looking  like  an  arch  of  roses  and  ivy.  The 
garden  is  chiefly  laid  out  in  lawn,  formed  of  the  sod  of  the  hills, 
with  herbage  short  and  soft  as  moss,  full  of  its  own  peculiar 
flowers,  tiny  and  starlike,  imbedded  in  the  minute  embroidery 
of  their  fine  foliage.  At  the  bottom  of  the  sloping  garden  there 
is  a  wicket,  which  opens  upon  a  lane  as  green  as  the  Lwn,  very 
long,  shady,  and  little  frequented  ;  on  the  turf  of  this  lane  gen- 
erally appear  the  first  daisies  of  spring — whence  its  name — 
Daisy  Lane  ;  serving  also  as  a  distinction  to  the  house. 

It  terminates  (the  lane  I  mean)  in  a  valley  full  of  wood  ; 
which  wood — chiefly  oak  and  beech — spreads  shadowy  about 
the  vicinage  of  a  very  old  mansion,  one  of  the  Elizabethan 
structures,  much  larger,  as  well  as  more  antique  than  Daisy 
Lane,  the  property  and  residence  of  an  individual  familiar  both 
to  me  and  to  the  reader.  Yes,  in  Hunsden  Wood — for  so  are 
those  glades  and  that  gray  building,  with  many  gables  and 
more  chimneys,  named — abides  Yorke  Hunsden,  still  unmar- 
ried ;  never,  I  suppose,  having  yet  found  his  ideal,  though  I 
know  at  least  a  score  of  young  ladies  within  a  circuit  of  forty 
miles  who  would  be  willing  to  assist  him  in  the  search. 


230  THE  PROFESSOR. 

The  estate  fell  to  him  by  the  death  of  his  father,  five  years 
since ;  he  has  given  up  trade,  after  having  made  by  it  sufficient 
to  pay  off  some  iucumbrances  by  which  the  family  heritage  was 
burdened.  I  say  he  abides  here,  but  I  do  not  think  he  is  resi- 
dent above  five  months  out  of  the  twelve;  he  wanders  from 
land  to  land,  and  spends  some  part  of  each  winter  in  town :  he 

frequently  brings  visitors  with  him  when  he  comes  to shire, 

and  these  visitors  are  often  foreigners ;  sometimes  he  has  a  Ger- 
man metaphysician,  sometimes  a  French  savant ;  he  had  once 
a  dissatisfied  and  savage-looking  Italian,  who  neither  sang  nor 
played,  and  of  whom  Frances  affirmed  that  he  had  "  tout  1'air 
d'un  conspirateur." 

What  English  guests  Hunsden  invites,  are  all  either  men  of 
Birmingham  or  Manchester — hard  men,  seemingly  knit  up  in 
one  thought,  whose  talk  is  of  free  trade.  The  foreign  visitors, 
too,  are  politicians :  they  take  a  wider  theme — European  pro- 
gress— the  spread  of  liberal  sentiments  over  the  Continent ;  on 
their  mental  tablets,  the  names  of  Russia,  Austria,  and  the 
Pope,  are  inscribed  in  red  ink.  I  have  heard  some  of  them 
talk  vigorous  sense — yea,  I  have  been  present  at  polyglot  dis- 
cussions in  the  old,  oak -lined  dining-room  at  Hunsden  Wood, 
where  a  singular  insight  was  given  of  the  sentiments  entertained 
by  resolute  minds  respecting  old  northern  despotisms  and  old 
southern  superstitions:  also,  ^  I  have  heard  much  twaddle 
enounced,  chiefly  in  French  and  Deutsch,  but  let  that  pass. 
Hunsden  himself  tolerated  the  drivelling  theorists;  with  the 
practical  men  he  seemed  leagued  hand  and  heart. 

When  Hunsden  is  staying  alone  at  the  Wood  (which  seldom 
happens)  he  generally  finds  his  way  two  or  three  times  a  week 
to  Daisy  Lane.  He  has  a  philanthropic  motive  for  coming  to 
smoke  his  cigar  in  our  porch  on  summer  evenings ;  he  says  he 
does  it  to  kill  the  earwigs  amongst  the  roses,  with  which  insects, 
but  for  his  benevolent  fumigations,  he  intimates  we  should  cer- 
tainly be  overrun.  On  wet  days,  too,  we  are  almost  sure  to  see 
him  ;  according  to  him,  it  gets  on  time  to  work  me  into  lunacy 
by  treading  on  my  mental  corns,  or  to  force  from  Mrs.  Crims- 
worth  revelations  of  the  dragon  within  her,  by  insulting  the 
memory  of  Hofer  and  Tell. 

We  also  go  frequently  to  Hunsden  Wood,  and  both  I  and 


THE  PROFESSOR.  231 

Frances  relish  a  visit  there  highly.  If  there  are  other  guests, 
their  characters  are  an  interesting  study ;  their  conversation  is 
exciting  and  strange ;  the  absence  of  all  local  narrowness  both 
in  the  host  and  his  chosen  society  gives  a  metropolitan,  almost 
a  cosmopolitan,  freedom  and  largeness  to  the  talk.  Hunsden 
himself  is  a  polite  man  in  his  own  house;  he  has,  when  he 
chooses  to  employ  it,  an  inexhaustible  power  of  entertaining 
guests ;  his  very  mansion  too  is  interesting,  the  rooms  look 
storied,  the  passages  legendary,  the  low-ceiled  chambers,  with 
their  long  rows  of  diamond-paned  lattices,  have  an  old-world, 
haunted  air :  in  his  travels  he  has  collected  stores  of  articles  of 
vertu,  which  are  well  and  tastefully  disposed  in  his  panelled  or 
tapestried  rooms ;  I  have  seen  there  one  or  two  pictures,  and  one 
or  two  pieces  of  statuary  which  many  an  aristocratic  connois- 
seur might  have  envied. 

When  I  and  Frances  have  dined  and  spent  an  evening  with 
Hunsden,  he  often  walks  home  with  us.  His  wood  is  large,  and 
some  of  the  timber  is  old  and  of  huge  growth.  There  are  wind- 
ing ways  in  it  which,  pursued  through  glade  and  brake,  make 
the  walk  back  to  Daisy  Lane  a  somewhat  long  one.  Many  a 
time,  when  we  have  had  the  benefit  of  a  full  moon,  and  when 
the  night  has  been  mild  and  balmy,  when,  moreover,  a  certain 
nightingale  has  been  singing,  and  a  certain  stream  hid  in  alders 
has  lent  the  song  a  soft  accompaniment,  the  remote  church-bell 
of  one  hamlet  in  a  district  of  ten  miles  has  tolled  midnight  ere 
the  lord  of  the  wood  left  us  at  our  porch.  Free-flowing  was  his 
talk  at  such  hours,  and  far  more  quiet  and  gentle  than  in  the 
day-time  and  before  numbers.  He  would  then  forget  politics 
and  discussion,  and  would  dwell  on  the  past  times  of  his  house, 
on  his  family  history,  on  himself  and  his  own  feelings — subjects 
each  and  all  invested  with  a  peculiar  zest,  for  they  were  each 
and  all  unique.  One  glorious  night  in  June,  after  I  had  been 
taunting  him  about  his  ideal  bride  and  asking  him  when  she 
would  come  and  graft  her  foreign  beauty  on  the  old  Hunsden 
oak,  he  answered  suddenly,  "  You  call  her  ideal ;  but  see, 
here  is  her  shadow ;  and  there  cannot  be  a  shadow  without  a 
substance." 

He  had  led  us  from  the  depth  of  the  "  winding  way "  into 
a  glade  from  whence  the  beeches  withdrew,  leaving  it  open  to 


232  THE  PROFESSOR. 

the  sky ;  an  unclouded  moon  poured  her  light  into  this  glade, 
and  Hunsden  held  out  under  her  beam  an  ivory  miniature. 

Frances,  with  eagerness,  examined  it  first ;  then  she  gave  it 
to  me — still,  however,  pushing  her  little  face  close  to  mine,  and 
seeking  in  my  eyes  what  I  thought  of  the  portrait.  I  thought 
it  represented  a  very  handsome  and  very  individual-looking 
female  face,  with,  as  he  had  once  said,  "  straight  and  harmo- 
nious features."  It  was  dark;  the  hair,  raven-black,  swept 
not  only  from  the  brow,  but  from  the  temples — seemed  thrust 
away  carelessly,  as  if  such  beauty  dispensed  with,  nay,  despised 
arrangement.  The  Italian  eye  looked  straight  into  you,  and 
an  independent,  determined  eye  it  was;  the  mouth  was  as  firm 
as  fine ;  the  chin  ditto.  On  the  back  of  the  miniature  was  gilded 
"  Lucia." 

"  That  is  a  real  head,"  was  my  conclusion. 

Hunsden  smiled. 

"  I  think  so,"  he  replied.     "  All  was  real  in  Lucia." 

"  And  she  was  somebody  you  would  have  liked  to  marry — 
but  could  not  ?" 

"  I  should  certainly  have  liked  to  marry  her,  and  that  I  have 
not  done  so  is  a  proof  that  I  could  not." 

He  repossessed  himself  of  the  miniature,  now  again  in  Fran- 
ces' hand,  and  put  it  away. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?"  he  asked  of  my  wife,  as  he  but- 
toned his  coat  over  it. 

"  I  am  sure  Lucia  once  wore  chains  and  broke  them,"  was 
the  strange  answer.  "  I  do  not  mean  matrimonial  chains,"  she 
added,  correcting  herself,  as  if  she  feared  misinterpretation, 
"  but  social  chains  of  some  sort.  The  face  is  that  of  one  who 
has  made  an  effort,  and  a  successful  and  triumphant  effort,  to 
wrest  some  vigorous  and  valued  faculty  from  insupportable  re- 
straint; and  when  Lucia's  faculty  got  free,  I  am  certain  it  spread 
wido  pinions  and  carried  her  higher  than — "  she  hesitated. 

"  Than  what  ?"  demanded  Hunsden. 

"  Than  '  les  convenances'  permitted  you  to  follow." 

"  I  think  you  grow  spiteful — impertinent." 

"  Lucia  has  trodden  the  stage,"  continued  Frances.  "  You 
never  seriously  thought  of  marrying  her;  you  admired  her 
originality,  her  fearlessness,  her  energy  of  body  and  mind ;  you 


THE  PROFESSOR.  233 

delighted  in  her  talent,  whatever  that  was,  Avhether  song,  dance, 
or  dramatic  representation  ;  you  worshipped  her  beauty,  which 
was  of  the  sort  after  your  own  heart :  but  I  am  sure  she  filled 
a  sphere  from  whence  you  would  never  have  thought  of  taking 
a  wife." 

"  Ingenious,"  remarked  Hunsden  ;  "  whether  true  or  not  is 
another  question.  Meantime,  don't  you  feel  your  little  lamp 
of  a  spirit  wax  very  pale  beside  such  a  girandole  as  Lucia's?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Candid,  at  least ;  and  the  Professor  will  soon  be  dissatisfied 
with  the  dim  light  you  give." 

"Will  you,  Monsieur?" 

"  My  sight  was  always  too  weak  to  endure  a  blaze,  Frances." 
We  had  now  reached  the  wicket. 

I  said,  a  few  pages  back,  that  this  is  a  sweet  summer  evening; 
it  is — there  has  been  a  series  of  lovely  days,  and  this  is  the 
loveliest ;  the  hay  is  just  carried  from  my  fields,  its  perfume 
still  lingers  in  the  air.  Frances  proposed  to  me,  an  hour  or 
two  since,  to  take  tea  out  on  the  lawn  ;  I  see  the  round  table, 
loaded  with  china,  placed  under  a  certain  beech  ;  Hunsden  is 
expected — nay,  I  hear  he  is  come — there  is  his  voice,  laying 
down  the  law  on  some  point  with  authority ;  that  of  Frances 
replies ;  she  opposes  him  of  course.  They  are  disputing  about 
Victor,  of  whom  Huusden  affirms  that  his  mother  is  making  a 
milksop.  Mrs.  Crimsworth  retaliates : — "  Better  a  thousand 
times  he  should  be  a  milksop  that  what  he  (Hunsden)  calls  '  a 
fine  lad  ;'  "  and  moreover  she  says  that  if  Hunsden  were  to  be- 
come a  fixture  in  the  neighborhood,  and  were  not  a  mere  comet, 
coining  and  going,  no  one  knows  how,  when,  where,  or  Avhy, 
"  she  should  be  quite  uneasy  until  she  had  got  Victor  away 
to  a  school  at  least  a  hundred  miles  off;  for  that,  with  his 
mutinous  maxims  and  unpractical  dogmas,  he  would  ruin  a 
score  of  children. 

I  have  a  word  to  say  of  Victor  ere  I  shut  this  manuscript  in 
my  desk — but  it  must  be  a  brief  one,  for  I  hear  the  tinkle  of 
silver  on  porcelain. 

Victor  is  as  little  of  a  pretty  child  as  I  am  of  a  handsome 
man,  or  his  mother  of  a  fine  woman ;  he  is  pale  and  spare,  with 
large  eyes,  as  dark  as  those  of  Frances,  and  as  deeply  set  as 


234  THE  PROFESSOR. 

mine.  His  shape  is  symmetrical  enough,  but  slight ;  his  health 
is  good.  I  never  saw  a  child  smile  less  than  he  does,  nor  one 
who  knits  such  a  formidable  brow  when  sitting  over  a  book 
that  interests  him,  or  while  listening  to  tales  of  adventure,  peril, 
or  wonder,  narrated  by  his  mother,  Hunsden,  or  myself.  But 
though  still,  he  is  not  unhappy — though  serious,  not  morose ; 
he  has  a  susceptibility  to  pleasurable  sensations  almost  too 
keen,  for  it  amounts  to  enthusiasm.  He  learned  to  read  in  the 
old-fashioned  way  out  of  a  spelling-book  at  his  mother's  knee, 
and  as  he  got  on  without  driving  by  that  method,  she  thought 
it  unnecessary  to  buy  him  ivory  letters,  or  to  try  any  of  the 
other  inducements  to  learning  now  deemed  indispensable. 
When  he  could  read,  he  became  a  glutton  of  books,  and  is  so 
still.  His  toys  have  been  few,  and  he  has  never  wanted  more. 
For  those  he  possesses,  he  seems  to  have  contracted  a  partiality 
amounting  to  affection;  this  feeling,  directed  towards  one  or 
two  living  animals  of  the  house,  strengthens  almost  to  a 
passion. 

Mr.  Hunsden  gave  him  a  mastiff  cub,  which  he  called  Yorke, 
after  the  donor ;  it  grew  to  a  superb  dog,  whose  fierceness,  how- 
ever, was  much  modified  by  the  companionship  and  caresses  of 
its  young  master.  He  would  go  nowhere,  do  nothing,  without 
Yorke ;  Yorke  lay  at  his  feet  while  he  learned  his  lessons, 
played  with  him  in  the  garden,  walked  with  him  in  the  lane 
and  wood,  sat  near  his  chair  at  meals,  was  fed  always  by  his 
own  hand,  was  the  first  thing  he  sought  in  the  morning,  the 
last  he  left  at  night.  Yorke  accompanied  Mr.  Hunsdeu  one 

day  to  X ,  and  was  bitten  in  the  street  by  a  dog  in  a  rabid 

state.  As  soon  as  Hunsden  had  brought  him  home,  and  had 
informed  me  of  the  circumstance,  I  went  into  the  yard  and  shot 
him  where  he  lay  licking  his  wound ;  he  was  dead  in  an  instant ; 
he  had  not  seen  me  level  the  gun  ;  I  stood  behind  him.  I  had 
scarcely  been  ten  minutes  in  the  house,  when  my  ear  was  struck 
with  sounds  of  anguish.  I  repaired  to  the  yard  once  more,  for 
they  proceeded  thence.  Victor  was  kneeling  beside  his  dead 
mastiff,  bent  over  it,  embracing  its  bull-like  neck,  and  lost  in  a 
passion  of  the  wildest  woe ;  he  saw  me. 

"  Oh,  papa,  I'll  never  forgive  you !  I'll  never  forgive  you !" 
was  his  exclamation.  "  You  shot  Yorke — I  saw  it  from  the 


THE  PROFESSOR.  235 

window.  I  never  believed  you  could  be  so  cruel — I  can  love 
you  no  more !" 

I  had  much  ado  to  explain  to  him,  with  a  steady  voice,  the 
stern  necessity  of  the  deed ;  he  still,  with  that  inconsolable  and 
bitter  accent  which  I  cannot  render,  but  which  pierced  my 
heart,  repeated — "  He  might  have  been  cured — you  should  have 
tried — you  should  have  burnt  the  wound  with  a  hot  iron,  or 
covered  it  with  caustic.  You  gave  no  time ;  and  now  it  is  too 
late — he  is  dead !" 

He  sank  fairly  down  on  the  senseless  carcase;  I  waited 
patiently  a  long  while,  till  his  grief  had  somewhat  exhausted 
him ;  and  then  I  lifted  him  in  my  arms  and  carried  him  to  his 
mother,  sure  that  she  would  comfort  him  best.  She  had  wit- 
nessed the  whole  scene  from  a  window ;  she  would  not  come  out 
for  fear  of  increasing  my  difficulties  by  her  emotion,  but  she 
was  ready  now  to  receive  him.  She  took  him  to  her  kind 
heart,  and  on  to  her  gentle  lap ;  consoled  him  but  with  her  lips, 
her  eyes,  her  soft  embrace,  for  some  time ;  and  then,  when  his 
sobs  diminished,  told  him  that  Yorke  had  felt  no  pain  in  dying, 
and  that  if  he  had  been  left  to  expire  naturally,  his  end  would 
have  been  most  horrible ;  above  all,  she  told  him  that  I  was 
not  cruel  (for  that  idea  seemed  to  give  exquisite  pain  to  poor 
Victor),  that  it  was  my  affection  for  Yorke  and  him  which  had 
made  me  act  so,  and  that  I  was  now  almost  heart-broken  to  see 
him  weep  thus  bitterly. 

Victor  would  have  been  no  true  son  of  his  father  had  these 
considerations,  these  reasons,  breathed  in  so  low,  so  sweet  a  tone 
— married  to  caresses  so  benign,  so  tender — to  looks  so  inspired 
with  pitying  sympathy — produced  no  effect  on  him.  They  did 
produce  an  effect;  he  grew  calmer,  rested  his  face  on  her 
shoulder,  and  lay  still  in  her  arms.  Looking  up,  shortly,  he 
asked  his  mother  to  tell  him  over  again  what  she  had  said 
about  Yorke  having  suffered  no  pain,  and  my  not  being  cruel ; 
the  balmy  words  being  repeated,  he  again  pillowed  his  cheek 
on  her  breast,. and  was  again  tranquil. 

Some  hours  after,  he  came  to  me  in  my  library,  asked  if  I 
forgave  him,  and  desired  to  be  reconciled.  I  drew  the  lad  to 
my  side,  and  there  I  kept  him  a  good  while,  and  had  much 
talk  with  him,  in  the  course  of  which  he  disclosed  many  points 


236  THE  PROFESSOR, 

of  feeling  and  thought  I  approved  of  in  my  son.  I  found,  it  is 
true,  few  elements  of  the  "  good  fellow"  or  the  "  fine  fellow"  in 
him  ;  scant  sparkles  of  the  spirit  which  loves  to  flash  over  the 
wine-cup,  or  which  kindles  the  passions  to  a  destroying  fire ; 
but  I  saw  in  the  soil  of  his  heart  healthy  and  swelling  germs  of 
compassion,  affection,  fidelity.  I  discovered  in  the  garden  of 
his  intellect  a  rich  growth  of  wholesome  principles — reason, 
justice,  moral  courage,  promised,  if  not  blighted,  a  fertile  bear- 
ing. So  I  bestowed  on  his  large  forehead,  and  on  his  cheek — 
still  pale  with  tears — a  proud  and  contented  kiss,  and  sent  him 
away  comforted.  Yet  I  saw  him  the  next  day  laid  on  the 
mound  under  which  Yorke  had  been  buried,  his  face  covered 
with  his  hands ;  he  was  melancholy  for  some  weeks,  and  more 
than  a  year  elapsed  before  he  would  listen  to  any  proposal  of 
having  another  dog. 

Victor  learns  fast.  He  must  soon  go  to  Eton,  where  I  sus- 
pect his  first  year  or  two  Avill  be  utter  wretchedness :  to  leave 
me,  his  mother,  and  his  home,  will  give  his  heart  an  agonized 
wrench ;  then,  the  fagging  will  not  suit  him — but  emulation, 
thirst  after  knowledge,  the  glory  of  success,  will  stir  and  reward 
him  in  time.  Meantime,  I  feel  in  myself  a  strong  repugnance 
to  fix  the  hour  which  will  uproot  my  sole  olive  branch,  and 
transplant  it  far  from  me ;  and  when  I  speak  to  Frances  on 
the  subject,  I  am  heard  with  a  kind  of  patient  pain,  as  though 
I  alluded  to  some  fearful  operation,  at  which  her  nature  shud- 
ders, but  from  which  her  fortitude  will  not  permit  her  to  recoil. 
The  step  must,  however,  be  taken,  and  it  shall  be;  for,  though 
Frances  will  not  make  a  milksop  of  her  son,  she  will  accustom 
him  to  a  style  of  treatment,  a  forbearance,  a  congenial  tender- 
ness, he  will  meet  with  from  none  else.  She  sees,  as  I  also  see, 
a  something  in  Victor's  temper — a  kind  of  electrical  ardor 
and  power — which  emits  now  and  then  ominous  sparks;  Huns- 
den  calls  it  his  spirit,  and  says  it  should  not  be  curbed.  I  call 
it  the  leaven  of  the  offending  Adam,  and  consider  that  it  should 
be,  if  not  whipped  out  of  him,  at  least  soundly  disciplined ;  and 
that  he  will  be  cheap  of  any  amount  of  either  bodily  or  mental 
suffering  which  will  ground  him  radically  in  the  art  of  self- 
control.  Frances  gives  this  something  in  her  son's  marked  char- 
acter no  name;  but  when  it  appears  in  the  grinding  of  his 


THE  PROFESSOR.  237 

teeth,  in  the  glittering  of  his  eye,  in  the  fierce  revolt  of  feeling 
against  disappointment,  mischance,  sudden  sorrow,  or  supposed 
injustice,  she  folds  him  to  her  breast,  or  takes  him  to  walk  with 
her  alone  in  the  wood ;  then  she  reasons  with  him  like  any 
philosopher,  and  to  reason  Victor  is  ever  accessible;  then  she 
looks  at  him  with  eyes  of  love,  and  by  love  Victor  can  be  infal- 
libly subjugated ;  but  will  reason  or  love  be  the  weapons  with 
which  in  future  the  world  will  meet  his  violence  ?  Oh,  no !  for 
that  flash  in  his  black  eye — for  that  cloud  on  his  bony  brow — 
for  that  compression  of  his  statuesque  lips,  the  lad  will  some 
day  get  blows  instead  of  blandishments — kicks  instead  of 
kisses ;  then  for  the  fit  of  mute  fury  which  will  sicken  his  body 
and  madden  his  soul ;  then  for  the  ordeal  of  merited  and  salu- 
tary suffering,  out  of  which  he  will  come  (I  trust)  a  wiser  and 
a  better  man. 

I  see  him  now ;  he  stands  by  Hunsden,  who  is  seated  on  the 
lawn  under  the  beech  ;  Hunsden's  hand  rests  on  the  boy's  collar, 
and  he  is  instilling  God  knows  what  principles  into  his  ear. 
Victor  looks  well  just  now,  for  he  listens  with  a  sort  of  smiling 
interest ;  he  never  looks  so  like  his  mother  as  when  he  smiles — 
pity  the  sunshine  breaks  out  so  rarely !  Victor  has  a  preference 
for  Hunsden,  full  as  strong  as  I  deem  desirable,  being  consider- 
ably more  potent,  decided,  and  undiscriminating,  than  any  I 
ever  entertained  for  that  personage  myself.  Frances,  too, 
regards  it  with  a  sort  of  unexpressed  anxiety ;  while  her  son 
leans  on  Hunsden's  knee,  or  rests  against  his  shoulder,  she  roves 
with  restless  movement  round,  like  a  dove  guarding  its  young 
from  a  hovering  hawk  ;  she  says  she  wishes  Hunsden  had  chil- 
dren of  his  own,  for  then  he  would  better  know  the  danger  of 
inciting  their  pride  and  indulging  their  foibles. 

Frances  approaches  my  library  window ;  puts  aside  the 
honeysuckle  which  half  covers  it,  and  tells  me  tea  is  ready ; 
seeing  that  I  continue  busy,  she  enters  the  room,  comes  near  me 
quietly,  and  puts  her  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Monsieur  est  trop  applique"." 

"  I  shall  soon  have  done." 

She  draws  a  chair  near,  and  sits  down  to  wait  till  I  have 
finished ;  her  presence  is  as  pleasant  to  iny  mind  as  the 
perfume  of  the  fresh  hay  and  spicy  flowers,  as  the  glow  of  the 


238  THE  PROFESSOR. 

westering  sun,  as  the  repose  of  the  midsummer  eve  are  to  my 
senses. 

But  Hunsden  comes  ;  I  hear  his  step,  and  there  he  is  bend- 
ing through  the  lattice,  from  which  he  has  thrust  away  the 
woodbine  with  unsparing  hand,  disturbing  two  bees  and  a 
butterfly. 

"Crimsworth!  I  say,  Crimsworth !  take  that  pen  out  of  his 
hand,  and  make  him  lift  up  his  head." 

"  Well,  Hunsden?  I  hear  you." 

"  I  was  at  X —  -  yesterday !  your,  brother  Ned  is  getting 
richer  than  Croesus  by  railway  speculations ;  they  call  him  in 
the  Piece  Hall  a  stag  of  ten ;  and  I  have  heard  from  Brown. 
M.  and  Madame  Vandenhuten  and  Jean  Baptiste  talk  of 
coming  to  see  you  next  month.  He  mentions  the  Pelets  too ;  he 
says  their  domestic  harmony  is  not  the  finest  in  the  world,  but 
in  business  they  are  doing  '  on  ne  peut  mieux,'  which  circum- 
stance he  concludes  will  be  a  sufficient  consolation  to  both  for 
any  little  crosses  in  the  affections.  Why  don't  you  invite  the 

Pelets  to shire,  Crimsworth  ?     I  should  so  like  to  see  your 

first  flame,  Zoraide.  Mistress,  don't  be  jealous,  but  he  loved 
that  lady  to  distraction ;  I  know  it  for  a  fact.  Brown  says  she 
weighs  twelve  stone  now ;  you  see  what  you've  lost,  Mr.  Pro- 
fessor. Now,  Monsieur  and  Madame,  if  you  don't  come  to  tea, 
Victor  and  I  will  begin  without  you." 

"  Papa,  come !" 


EMMA. 


A   FRAGMENT   OF   A   STOKY. 


(239) 


fragment,  the  last  literary  effort  of  the   author  of 
_l_    JANE  EYRE,  appeared  in  the  Qornhill  Magazine  for  April, 
1860,  preceded  by  the  following  introduction  from  the  pen  of 
its  editor,  Mr.  W.  M.  Thackeray,  entitled, — 

THE    LAST    SKETCH. 

Not  many  days  since  I  went  to  visit  a  house  where  in  former 
years  I  had  received  many  a  friendly  welcome.  We  went  into 
the  owner's  (an  artist's)  studio.  Prints,  pictures,  and  sketches 
hung  on  the  walls  as  I  had  last  seen  and  remembered  them. 
The  implements  of  the  painter's  art  were  there.  The  light 
which  had  shone  upon  so  many,  many  hours  of  patient  and 
cheerful  toil  poured  through  the  northern  window  upon  print 
and  bust,  lay  figure  and  sketch,  and  upon  the  easel  before  which 
the  good,  the  gentle,  the  beloved  Leslie  labored.  In  this  room 
the  busy  brain  had  devised,  and  the  skilful  hand  executed,  I 
know  not  how  many  of  the  noble  works  which  have  delighted 
the  world  with  their  beauty  and  charming  humor.  Here  the 
poet  called  up  into  pictorial  presence,  and  informed  with  life, 
grace,  beauty,  infinite  friendly  mirth  and  wondrous  naturalness 
of  expression,  the  people  of  whom  his  dear  books  told  him  the 
stories, — his  Shakspeare,  his  Cervantes,  his  Moliere,  his  Le 
Sage.  There  was  his  last  work  on  the  easel — a  beautiful,  fresh, 
smiling  shape  of  Titania,  such  as  his  sweet,  guileless  fancy 
imagined  the  Midsummer  Night's  queen  to  be.  Gracious,  and 
pure,  and  bright,  the  sweet  smiling  image  glimmers  on  the  can- 
vas. Fairy  elves  no  doubt  were  to  have  been  grouped  around 
their  mistress  in  laughing  clusters.  Honest  Bottom's  grotesque 
head  and  form  are  indicated  as  reposing  by  the  side  of  the  con- 
summate beauty.  The  darkling  forest  would  have  grown 
around  them,  with  the  stars  glittering  from  the  midsummer 
16  (241) 


242  THE  LAST  SKETCH. 

sky.  The  flowers  at  the  queen's  feet,  and  the  boughs  and  foliage 
about  her,  would  have  been  peopled  Avith  gambolling  sprites 
and  fays.  They  were  dwelling  in  the  artist's  mind  no  doubt, 
and  would  have  been  developed* by  that  patient,  faithful,  admi- 
rable genius.  But  the  busy  brain  stopped  working,  the  skilful 
hand  fell  lifeless,  the  loving,  honest  heart  ceased  to  beat.  \Vhat 
was  she  to  have  been — that  fair  Titania — when  perfected  by 
the  patient  skill  of  the  poet,  who  in  imagination  saw  the  sweet 
innocent  figure,  and  Avith  tender  courtesy  and  caresses,  as  it 
were,  posed  and  shaped  and  traced  the  fair  form?  Is  there 
record  kept  anywhere  of  fancies  conceived,  beautiful,  unborn  ? 
Some  day  will  they  assume  form  in  some  yet  undeveloped  light? 
If  our  bad  unspoken  thoughts  are  registered  against  us,  and 
are  written  in  the  awful  account,  will  not  the  good  thoughts 
unspoken,  the  love  and  tenderness,  the  pity,  beauty,  charity, 
which  pass  through  the  breast,  and  cause  the  heart  to  throb 
with  silent  good,  find  a  remembrance  too  ?  A  few  weeks  more, 
and  this  lovely  offspring  of  the  poet's  conception  would  have 
been  complete,  to  charm  the  world  with  its  beautiful  mirth. 
May  there  not  be  some  sphere  unknown  to  us  where  it  may 
have  an  existence  ?  They  say  our  words,  once  out  of  our  lips, 
go  travelling  in  omne  cevum,  reverberating  for  ever  and  ever. 
If  our  words,  why  not  our  thoughts  ?  If  the  Has  Been,  why  not 
the  Might  Have  Been  ? 

Some  day  our  spirits  may  be  permitted  to  walk  in  galleries 
of  fancies  more  wondrous  and  beautiful  than  any  achieved 
works  which  at  present  we  see,  and  our  minds  to  behold  and 
delight  in  masterpieces  which  poets'  and  artists'  minds  have 
fathered  and  conceived  only. 

With  a  feeling  much  akin  to  that  with  which  I  looked  upon 
the  friend's — the  admirable  artist's — unfinished  work,  I  can 
fancy  many  readers  turning  to  these  the  last  pages  which  wore 
traced  by  Charlotte  Bronte's  hand.  Of  the  multitude  that  has 
read  her  books,  who  has  not  known  and  deplored  the  tragedy 
of  her  family,  her  own  most  sad  and  untimely  fate  ?  Which  of 
her  readers  has  not  become  her  friend  ?  Who  that  has  known 
her  books  has  not  admired  the  artist's  noble  English,  the  burn- 
ing love  of  truth,  the  bravery,  the  simplicity,  the  indignation, 
at  wrong,  the  eager  sympathy,  the  pious  love  and  reverence,  the 


THE  LAST  SKETCH.  243 

passionate  honor,  so  to  speak,  of  the  woman?  What  a  story  is 
that  of  that  family  of  poets  in  their  solitude  yonder  on  the 
gloomy  northern  moors !  At  nine  o'clock  at  night,  Mrs.  Gaskell 
tells,  after  evening  prayers,  when  their  guardian  and  relative 
had  gone  to  bed,  the  three  poetesses — the  three  maidens,  Char- 
lotte, and  Emily,  and  Anne — Charlotte  being  the  "  motherly 
friend  and  guardian  to  the  other  two  " — "  began,  like  restless 
wild  animals,  to  pace  up  and  down  their  parlor,  '  making  out ' 
their  wonderful  stories,  talking  over  plans  and  projects,  and 
thoughts  of  what  was  to  be  their  future  life." 

One  evening,  at  the  close  of  1854,  as  Charlotte  Nicholls  sat 
with  her  husband  by  the  fire,  listening  to  the  howling  of  the 
wind  about  the  house,  she  suddenly  said  to  her  husband,  "  If 
you  had  not  been  with  me,  I  must  have  been  writing  now."  She 
then  ran  up  stairs,  and  brought  down,  and  read  aloud,  the 
beginning  of  a  new  tale.  When  she  had  finished,  her  husband 
remarked,  "  The  critics  will  accuse  you  of  repetition."  She  re- 
plied, "  Oh !  I  shall  alter  that.  I  always  begin  two  or  three 
times  before  I  can  please  myself."  But  it  was  not  to  be.  The 
trembling  little  hand  was  to  write  no  more.  The  heart,  newly 
awakened  to  love  and  happiness,  and  throbbing  with  maternal 
hope,  was  soon  to  cease  to  beat ;  that  intrepid  outspeaker  and 
champion  of  truth,  that  eager,  impetuous  redresser  of  wrong, 
was  to  be  called  out  of  the  world's  fight  and  struggle,  to  lay 
down  the  shining  arms,  and  to  be  removed  to  a  sphere  where 
even  a  noble  indignation  cor  ulterius  nequit  lacerare,  and  where 
truth  complete,  and  right  triumphant,  no  longer  need  to  wage 
war. 

I  can  only  say  of  this  lady,  vidi  tantum.  I  saw  her  first  just 
as  I  rose  out  of  an  illness  from  which  I  had  never  thought  to 
recover.  I  remember  the  trembling  little  frame,  the  little  hand, 
the  great  honest  eyes.  An  impetuous  honesty  seemed  to  me  to 
characterize  the  woman.  Twice  I  recollect  she  took  me  to  task 
for  what  she  held  to  be  errors  in  doctrine.  Once  about  Fielding 
we  had  a  disputation.  She  spoke  her  mind  out.  She  jumped 
too  rapidly  to  conclusions.  (I  have  smiled  at  one  or  two  passages 
in  the  Biography,  in  which  my  own  disposition  or  behavior 
forms  the  subject  of  talk.)  She  formed  conclusions  that  might 
be  wrong,  and  built  up  whole  theories  of  character  upon  them. 


244  THE  LAST  SKETCH. 

New  to  the  London  world,  she  entered  it  with  an  independent, 
indomitable  spirit  of  her  own  ;  and  judged  of  contemporaries,  and 
especially  spied  out  arrogance  or  affectation,  with  extraordinary 
keenness  of  vision.  She  was  angry  with  her  favorites  if  their 
conduct  or  conversation  fell  below  her  ideal.  Often  she  seemed 
to  me  to  be  judging  the  London  folk  prematurely  ;  but  perhaps 
the  city  is  rather  angry  at  being  judged.  I  fancied  an  austere 
little  Joan  of  Arc  marching  in  upon  us,  and  rebuking  our  easy 
lives,  our  easy  morals.  She  gave  me  the  impression  of  being  a 
very  pure,  and  lofty,  and  high-minded  person.  A  great  and 
holy  reverence  of  right  and  truth  seemed  to  be  with  her  always. 
Such,  in  our  brief  interview,  she  appeared  to  me.  As  one  thinks 
of  that  life  so  noble,  so  lonely — of  that  passion  for  truth — of 
those  nights  and  nights  of  eager  study,  swarming  fancies,  inven- 
tion, depression,  elation,  prayer ;  as  one  reads  the  necessarily 
incomplete,  though  most  touching  and  admirable  history  of  the 
heart  that  throbbed  in  this  one  little  frame — of  this  one  amongst 
the  myriads  of  souls  that  have  lived  and  died  on  this  great 
earth — this  great  earth  ? — this  little  speck  in  the  infinite  uni- 
verse of  God, — with  what  wonder  do  we  think  of  to-day,  with 
what  awe  await  to-morrow,  when  that  which  is  now  but  darkly 
seen  shall  be  clear !  As  I  read  this  little  fragmentary  sketch,  I 
think  of  the  rest.  Is  it?  And  where  is  it  ?  Will  not  the  leaf 
be  turned  some  day,  and  the  story  be  told  ?  Shall  the  deviser 
of  the  tale  somewhere  perfect  the  history  of  little  EMMA'S  griefs 
and  troubles?  Shall  TITANIA  come  forth  complete  with  her 
sportive  court,  with  the  flowers  at  her  feet,  the  forest  around 
her,  and  all  the  stars  of  summer  glittering  overhead  ? 

How  well  I  remember  the  delight,  and  wonder,  and  pleasure 
with  which  I  read  Jane  Eyre,  sent  to  me  by  an  author  whose 
name  and  sex  were  then  alike  unknown  to  me ;  the  strange  fas- 
cinations of  the  book ;  and  how  with  my  own  work  pressing 
upon  me,  I  could  not,  having  taken  the  volumes  up,  lay  them 
down  until  they  were  read  through !  Hundreds  of  those  who, 
like  myself,  recognized  and  admired  that  master-work  of  a  great 
genius,  will  look  with  a  mournful  interest  and  regard  and 
curiosity  upon  this,  the  last  fragmentary  sketch  from  the  noble 
hand  which  wrote  Jane  Eyre. 

W.  M.  T. 


EMMA. 


CHAPTER     I. 

"T"YT~E  all  seek  an  ideal  in  life.  A  pleasant  fancy  began  to 
V  V  visit  me  in  a  certain  year,  that  perhaps  the  number  of 
human  beings  is  few  who  do  not  find  their  quest  at  some  era  of 
life  for  some  space  more  or  less  brief.  I  had  certainly  not  found 
mine  in  youth,  though  the  strong  belief  I  held  of  its  existence 
sufficed  through  all  my  brightest  and  freshest  time  to  keep  me 
hopeful.  I  had  not  found  it  in  maturity.  I  was  become 
resigned  never  to  find  it.  I  had  lived  certain  dim  years  entirely 
tranquil  and  unexpectant.  And  now  I  was  not  sure  but  something 
was  hovering  round  my  hearth  which  pleased  me  wonderfully. 

Look  at  it,  reader.  Come  into  my  parlor  and  judge  for  your- 
self whether  I  do  right  to  care  for  this  thing.  First,  you  may 
scan  me,  if  you  please.  We  shall  go  on  better  together  after  a 
satisfactory  introduction  and  due  apprehension  of  identity.  My 
name  is  Mrs.  Chalfont.  I  am  a  widow.  My  house  is  good,  and 
my  income  such  as  need  not  check  the  impulse  either  of  charity 
or  a  moderate  hospitality.  I  am  not  young  nor  yet  old.  There 
is  no  silver  yet  in  my  hair,  but  its  yellow  lustre  is  gone.  In  my 
face  wrinkles  are  yet  to  come,  but  I  have  almost  forgotten  the 
days  when  it  wore  any  bloom.  I  married  when  I  was  very 
young.  I  lived  for  fifteen  years  a  life  which,  whatever  its  trials, 
could  not  be  called  stagnant.  Then  for  five  years  I  was  alone, 
and,  having  no  children,  desolate.  Lately  Fortune,  by  a  some- 
what curious  turn  of  her  wheel,  placed  in  my  way  an  interest 

and  a  companion. 

(245) 


246  EMMA. 

The  neighborhood  where  I  live  is  pleasant  enough,  its  scenery 
agreeable,  and  its  society  civilized,  though  not  numerous.  About 
a  mile  from  my  house  there  is  a  ladies'  school,  established  but 
lately — not  more  than  three  years  since.  The  conductresses  of 
this  school  were  of  my  acquaintances ;  and  though  I  cannot 
say  that  they  occupied  the  very  highest  place  in  my  opinion — 
for  they  had  brought  back  from  some  months'  residence  abroad, 
for  finishing  purposes,  a  good  deal  that  was  fantastic,  affected, 
and  pretentious — yet  I  awarded  them  some  portion  of  that 
respect  which  seems  the  fair  due  of  all  women  who  face  life 
bravely,  and  try  to  make  their  own  way  by  their  own  efforts. 

About  a  year  after  the  Misses  Wilcox  opened  their  school, 
when  the  number  of  their  pupils  was  as  yet  exceedingly  limited, 
and  when,  no  doubt,  they  were  looking  out  anxiously  enough 
for  augmentation,  the  entrance-gate  to  their  little  drive  was  one 
day  thrown  back  to  admit  a  carriage — "  a  very  handsome,  fash- 
ionable carriage,"  Miss  Mabel  Wilcox  said,  in  narrating  the 
circumstance  afterwards — and  drawn  by  a  pair  of  really  splen- 
did horses.  The  sweep  up  the  drive,  the  loud  ring  at  the  door- 
bell, the  bustling  entrance  into  the  house,  the  ceremonious 
admission  to  the  bright  drawing-room,  roused  excitement  enough 
in  Fuchsia  Lodge.  Miss  Wilcox  repaired  to  the  reception-room 
in  a  pair  of  new  gloves,  and  carrying  in  her  hand  a  handker- 
chief of  French  cambric. 

She  found  a  gentleman  seated  on  the  sofa,  who,  as  he  rose  up, 
appeared  a  tall,  fine-looking  personage ;  at  least  she  thought 
him  so,  as  he  stood  with  his  back  to  the  light.  He  introduced 
himself  as  Mr.  Fitzgibbon,  inquired  if  Miss  Wilcox  had  a 
vacancy,  and  intimated  that  he  wished  to  intrust  to  her  care  a 
new  pupil  in  the  shape  of  his  daughter.  This  was  welcome 
news,  for  there  was  many  a  vacancy  in  Miss  Wilcox's  school- 
room ;  indeed,  her  establishment  was  as  yet  limited  to  the  select 
number  of  three,  and  she  and  her  sisters  were  looking  forward 
with  anything  but  confidence  to  the  balancing  of  accounts  at 
the  close  of  their  first  half-year.  Few  objects  could  have  been 
more  agreeable  to  her,  then,  than  that  to  which,  by  a  wave  of 
the  hand,  Mr.  Fitzgibbon  now  directed  her  attention — the  figure 
of  a  child  standing  near  the  drawing-room  window. 

Had  Miss  Wilcox's  establishment  boasted  fuller  ranks — had 


EMMA.  247 

she  indeed  entered  well  on  that  course  of  prosperity  which  ia 
after  years  an  undeviating  attention  to  externals  enabled  her  so 
triumphantly  to  realize  —  an  early  thought  with  her  would 
have  been  to  judge  whether  the  acquisition  now  offered  was 
likely  to  answer  well  as  a  show-pupil.  She  would  have  in- 
stantly marked  her  look,  dress,  &c.,  and  inferred  her  value  from 
these  indicia.  In  those  anxious  commencing  times,  however, 
Miss  Wilcox  could  scarce  afford  herself  the  luxury  of  such  ap- 
preciation :  a  new  pupil  represented  forty  pounds  a  year,  inde- 
pendently of  masters'  terms — and  forty  pounds  a  year  was  a 
sum  Miss  Wilcox  needed  and  was  glad  to  secure ;  besides,  the 
fine  carriage,  the  fine  gentleman,  and  the  fine  name,  gave  grati- 
fying assurance,  enough  and  to  spare,  of  eligibility  in  the  prof- 
fered connection.  It  was  admitted,  then,  that  there  were 
vacancies  in  Fuchsia  Lodge ;  that  Miss  Fitzgibbon  could  be  re- 
ceived at  once ;  that  she  was  to  learn  all  that  the  school  pro- 
spectus proposed  to  teach  ;  to  be  liable  to  every  extra :  in  short, 
to  be  as  expensive,  and  consequently  as  profitable  a  pupil  as  any 
directress's  heart  could  wish.  All  this  was  arranged  as  upon 
velvet,  smoothly  and  liberally.  Mr.  Fitzgibbon  showed  in  the 
transaction  none  of  the  hardness  of  the  bargain-making  man  of 
business,  and  as  little  of  the  penurious  anxiety  of  the  straitened 
professional  mau.  Miss  Wilcox  felt  him  to  be  "quite  the  gentle- 
man." Everything  disposed  her  to  be  partially  inclined 
towards  the  little  girl  whom  he,  on  taking  leave,  formally  com- 
mitted to  her  guardianship  ;  and  as  if  no  circumstance  should 
be  wanting  to  complete  her  happy  impression,  the  address  left 
written  on  a  card  served  to  fill  up  the  measure  of  Miss  Wilcox's 
satisfaction — Conway  Fitzgibbon,  Esq.,  May  Park,  Midland 
County.  That  very  day  three  decrees  were  passed  in  the  new- 
comer's favor : — 

1st.  That  she  was  to  be  Miss  Wilcox's  bed-fellow. 

2d.  To  sit  next  her  at  table. 

3d.  To  walk  out  with  her. 

In  a  few  days  it  became  evident  that  a  fourth  secret  clause 
had  been  added  to  these,  viz.,  that  Miss  Fitzgibbon  was  to  be 
favored,  petted  and  screened  on  all  possible  occasions. 

An  ill-conditioned  pupil,  who  before  coming  to  Fuchsia  Lodge 
had  passed  a  year  under  the  care  of  certain  old-fashioned  Misses 


248  EMMA. 

Sterling,  of  Hartwood,  and  from  them  had  picked  up  unprac- 
tical notions  of  justice,  took  it  upon  her  to  utter  an  opinion  on 
this  system  of  favoritism. 

"  The  Misses  Sterling,"  she  injudiciously  said,  "  never  distin- 
guished any  girl  because  she  was  richer  or  better  dressed  than 
the  rest.  They  would  have  scorned  to  do  so.  They  always  re- 
warded girls  according  as  they  behaved  well  to  their  school- 
fellows and  minded  their  lessons,  not  according  to  the  number 
of  their  silk  dresses,  and  fine  laces,  and  feathers. 

For  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  Miss  Fitzgibbon's  trunks, 
when  opened,  disclosed  a  splendid  wardrobe ;  so  fine  were  the 
various  articles  of  apparel,  indeed,  that  instead  of  assigning  for 
their  accommodation  the  painted  deal  drawers  of  the  school  bed- 
room, Miss  Wilcox  had  them  arranged  in  a  mahogany  bureau 
in  her  own  room.  With  her  own  hands,  too,  she  would  on  Sun- 
days array  the  little  favorite  in  her  quilted  silk  pelisse,  her  hat 
and  feathers,  her  ermine  boa,  and  little  French  boots  and  gloves. 
And  very  self-complacent  she  felt  when  she  led  the  young 
heiress  (a  letter  from  Mr.  Fitzgibbon,  received  since  his  first 
visit,  had  communicated  the  additional  particulars  that  his 
daughter  was  his  only  child,  and  would  be  the  inheritress  of  his 
estates,  including  May  Park,  Midland  County) — when  she  led 
her,  I  say,  into  the  church,  and  seated  her  stately  by  her  side 
at  the  top  of  the  gallery-pew.  Unbiassed  observers  might, 
indeed,  have  wondered  what  there  was  to  be  proud  of,  and  puz- 
zled their  heads  to  detect  the  special  merits  of  this  little  woman 
in  silk — for,  to  speak  truth,  Miss  Fitzgibbon  was  far  from  being 
the  beauty  of  the  school :  there  were  two  or  three  blooming 
little  faces  amongst  her  companions  lovelier  than  hers.  Had 
she  been  a  poor  child,  Miss  Wilcox  herself  would  not  have 
liked  her  physiognomy  at  all :  rather,  indeed,  would  it  have  re- 
pelled than  attracted  her ;  and,  moreover — though  Miss  Wil- 
cox hardly  confessed  the  circumstance  to  herself,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  strove  hard  not  to  be  conscious  of  it — there  were 
moments  when  she  became  sensible  of  a  certain  strange  weari- 
ness in  continuing  her  system  of  partiality.  It  hardly  came 
natural  to  her  to  show  this  special  distinction  in  this  particular 
instance.  An  undefined  wonder  would  smite  her  sometimes 
that  she  did  not  take  more  real  satisfaction  in  flattering  and 


EMMA.  249 

caressing  this  embryro  heiress — that  she  did  not  like  better  to 
have  her  always  at  her  side,  under  her  special  charge.  On 
principle  Miss  Wilcox  continued  the  plan  she  had  begun.  On 
principle,  for  she  argued  with  herself:  This  is  the  richest  and 
most  aristocratic  of  my  pupils ;  she  brings  me  the  most  credit 
and  the  most  profit :  therefore,  I  ought  in  justice  to  show  her  a 
special  indulgence;  which  she  did — but  with  a  gradually  in- 
creasing peculiarity  of  feeling. 

Certainly,  the  undue  favors  showered  on  little  Miss  Fitzgib- 
bon  brought  their  object  no  real  benefit.  Unfitted  for  the 
character  of  playfellow  by  her  position  of  favorite,  her  fellow- 
pupils  rejected  her  company  as  decidedly  as  they  dared.  Active 
rejection  was  not  long  necessary  ;  it  was  soon  seen  that  passive 
avoidance  would  suffice ;  the  pet  was  not  social.  No.  Even 
Miss  Wilcox  never  thought  her  social.  When  she  sent  for  her 
to  show  her  fine  clothes  in  the  drawing-room  when  there  was 
company,  and  especially  when  she  had  her  into  her  parlor  of  an 
evening  to  be  her  own  companion,  Miss  Wilcox  used  to  feel 
curiously  perplexed.  She  would  try  to  talk  affably  to  the 
young  heiress,  to  draw  her  out,  to  amuse  her.  To  herself  the 
governess  could  render  no  reason  why  her  efforts  soon  flagged ; 
but  this  was  invariably  the  case.  However,  Miss  Wilcox  was 
a  woman  of  courage ;  and  be  the  protege  what  she  might,  the 
patroness  did  not  fail  to  continue  on  principle  her  system  of 
preference. 

A  favorite  has  no  friends ;  and  the  observation  of  a  gentle- 
man, who  about  this  time  called  at  the  Lodge  and  chanced  to 
see  Miss  Fitzgibbon,  was,  "  That  child  looks  consummately 
unhappy:"  he  was  watching  Miss  Fitzgibbon,  as  she  walked, 
by  herself,  fine  and  solitary,  while  her  schoolfellows  were 
merrily  playing. 

"  Who  is  the  miserable  little  wight  ?"  he  asked. 

He  was  told  her  name  and  dignity. 

"  Wretched  little  soul !"  he  repeated ;  and  he  watched  her 
pace  down  the  walk  and  back  again ;  marching  upright,  her 
hands  in  her  ermine  muff,  her  fine  pelisse  showing  a  gay  sheen 
to  the  winter's  sun,  her  large  Leghorn  hat  shading  such  a  face 
as  fortunately  had  not  its  parallel  on  the  premises. 

"Wretched    little    soul!"  reiterated  this  gentleman.      He 


250  EMMA. 

opened  the  drawing-room  window,  watched  the  bearer  of  the 
muff  till  he  caught  her  eye,  and  then  summoned  her  with  his 
finger.  She  came ;  he  stooped  his  head  down  to  her ;  she  lifted 
her  face  up  to  him. 

"  Don't  you  play,  little  girl  ?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  No !  Why  not  ?  Do  you  think  yourself  better  than  other 
children  ?" 

No  answer. 

"  Is  it  because  people  tell  you  you  are  rich,  you  won't  play?" 

The  young  lady  was  gone.  He  stretched  his  hand  to  arrest 
her,  but  she  wheeled  beyond  his  reach,  and  ran  quickly  out  of 
sight. 

"  An  only  child,"  pleaded  Miss  Wilcox ;  "  possibly  spoiled  by 
her  papa,  you  know  ;  we  must  excuse  a  little  pettishness." 

"  Humph !     I  am  afraid  there  is  not  a  little  to  excuse." 


CHAPTER   II. 

MR.  ELLIN — the  gentleman  mentioned  in  the  last  chapter 
— was  a  man  who  went  where  he  liked,  and  being  a 
gossiping,  leisurely  person,  he  liked  to  go  almost  anywhere. 
He  could  not  be  rich,  he  lived  so  quietly ;  and  yet  he  must 
have  had  some  money,  for,  without  apparent  profession,  he  con- 
tinued to  keep  a  house  and  a  servant.  He  always  spoke  of 
himself  as  having  once  been  a  worker ;  but  if  so,  that  could  not 
have  been  very  long  since,  for  he  still  looked  far  from  old. 
Sometimes  of  an  evening,  under  a  little  social  conversational 
excitement,  he  would  look  quite  young ;  but  he  was  changeable 
in  mood,  and  complexion,  and  expression,  and  had  chamelion 
eyes,  sometimes  blue  and  merry,  sometimes  gray  and  dark,  and 
anon  green  and  gleaming.  On  the  whole  he  might  be  called  a 
fair  man,  of  average  height,  rather  thin  and  rather  wiry.  He 
had  not  resided  more  than  two  years  in  the  present  neighbor- 


EMMA.  251 

hood  ;  his  antecedents  were  unknown  there  ;  but  as  the  Rector, 
a  man  of  good  family  and  standing,  and  of  undoubted  scrupu- 
lousness in  the  choice  of  acquaintance,  had  introduced  him,  he 
found  everywhere  a  prompt  reception,  of  which  nothing  in  his 
conduct  had  yet  seemed  to  prove  him  unworthy.  Some 
people,  indeed,  dubbed  him  "  a  character,"  and  fancied  him 
"  eccentric ;"  but  others  could  not  see  the  appropriateness  of  the 
epithets.  He  always  seemed  to  them  very  harmless  and  quiet, 
not  always  perhaps  so  perfectly  unreserved  and  comprehensible 
as  might  be  wished.  He  had  a  discomposing  expression  in  hia 
eye  ;  and  sometimes  in  conversation  an  ambiguous  diction ;  but 
still  they  believed  he  meant  no  harm. 

Mr.  Ellin  often  called  on  the  Misses  Wilcox ;  he  sometimes 
took  tea  with  them ;  he  appeared  to  like  tea  and  muffins,  and 
not  to  dislike  the  kind  of  conversation  which  usually  accom- 
panies that  refreshment ;  he  was  said  to  be  a  good  shot,  a  good 
angler.  He  proved  himself  an  excellent  gossip — he  liked  gossip 
well.  On  the  whole  he  liked  women's  society,  and  did  not  seem 
to  be  particular  in  requiring  difficult  accomplishments  or  rare 
endowments  in  his  female  acquaintance.  The  Misses  Wilcox, 
for  instance,  were  not  much  less  shallow  than  the  china  saucer 
which  held  their  teacups ;  yet  Mr.  Ellin  got  on  perfectly  well 
with  them,  and  had  apparently  great  pleasure  in  hearing  them 
discuss  all  the  details  of  their  school.  He  knew  the  names  of 
all  their  young  ladies  too,  and  would  shake  hands  with  them  if 
he  met  them  walking  out ;  he  knew  their  examination  days  and 
gala  days,  and  more  than  once  accompanied  Mr.  Cecil,  the 
curate,  when  he  went  to  examine  in  ecclesiastical  history. 

This  ceremony  took  place  weekly,  on  "Wednesday  afternoons, 
after  which  Mr.  Cecil  sometimes  stayed  to  tea,  and  usually 
found  two  or  three  lady  parishioners  invited  to  meet  him.  Mr. 
Ellin  was  also  pretty  sure  to  be  there.  Rumor  gave  one  of 
the  Misses  Wilcox  in  anticipated  wedlock  to  the  curate,  and 
furnished  his  friend  with  a  second  in  the  same  tender  relation ; 
so  that  it  is  to  be  conjectured  they  made  a  social,  pleasant  party 
under  such  interesting  circumstances.  Their  evenings  rarely 
passed  without  Miss  Fitzgibbon  being  introduced — all  worked 
muslin  and  streaming  sash  and  elaborated  ringlets ;  others  of 
the  pupils  would  also  be  called  in,  perhaps  to  sing,  to  show  off 


252  EMMA. 

a  little  at  the  piano,  or  sometimes  to  repeat  poetry.  Miss 
Wilcox  conscientiously  cultivated  display  in  her  young  ladies, 
thinking  she  thus  fulfilled  a  duty  to  herself  and  to  them,  at 
once  spreading  her  own  fame  and  giving  the  children  self- 
possessed  manners. 

It  was  curious  to  note  how,  on  these  occasions,  good,  genuine 
natural  qualities  still  vindicated  their  superiority  to  counter- 
feit, artificial  advantages.  While  "dear  Miss  Fitzgibbon," 
dressed  up  and  flattered  as  she  was,  could  only  sidle  round  the 
circle  with  the  crestfallen  air  which  seemed  natural  to  her,  just 
giving  her  hand  to  the  guests,  then  almost  snatching  it  away, 
and  sneaking  in  unmannerly  haste  to  the  place  allotted  to  her 
at  Miss  Wilcox's  side,  which  place  she  filled  like  a  piece  of 
furniture,  neither  smiling  nor  speaking  the  evening  through — 
while  such  was  Tier  deportment,  certain  of  her  companions,  as 
Mary  Franks,  Jessy  Newton,  &c.,  handsome,  open-countenanced 
little  damsels — fearless  because  harmless — would  enter  with  a 
smile  of  salutation  and  a  blush  of  pleasure,  make  their  pretty 
reverence  at  the  drawing-room  door,  stretch  a  friendly  little 
hand  to  such  visitors  as  they  knew,  and  sit  down  to  the  piano 
to  play  their  well-practised  duet  with  an  innocent,  obliging 
readiness  which  won  all  hearts. 

There  was  a  girl  called  Diana — the  girl  alluded  to  before  as 
having  once  been  Miss  Sterling's  pupil — a  daring,  brave  girl, 
much  loved  and  a  little  feared  by  her  comrades.  She  had  good 
faculties,  both  physical  and  mental — was  clever,  honest,  and 
dauntless.  In  the  schoolroom  she  set  her  young  brow  like  a 
rock  against  Miss  Fitzgibbon's  pretensions ;  she  found  also  heart 
and  spirit  to  withstand  them  in  the  drawing-room.  One  even- 
ing, when  the  curate  had  been  summoned  away  by  some  piece 
of  duty  directly  after  tea,  and  there  was  no  stranger  present 
but  Mr.  Ellin,  Diana  had  been  called  in  to  play  a  long,  difficult 
piece  of  music,  which  she  could  execute  like  a  master.  She 
was  still  in  the  midst  of  her  performance,  when — Mr.  Ellin 
having  for  the  first  time,  perhaps,  recognized  the  existence  of 
the  heiress  by  asking  if  she  was  cold — Miss  Wilcox  took  the 
opportunity  of  launching  into  a  strain  of  commendation  on 
Miss  Fitzgibbon's  inanimate  behavior,  terming  it  lady-like, 
modest,  and  exemplary.  Whether  Miss  Wilcox's  constrained 


EMMA.  253 

tone  betrayed  how  far  she  was  from  really  feeling  the  approba- 
tion she  expressed,  how  entirely  she  spoke  from  a  sense  of  duty, 
and  not  because  she  felt  it  possible  to  be  in  any  degree  charmed 
by  the  personage  she  praised — or  whether  Diana,  who  was  by 
nature  hasty,  had  a  sudden  fit  of  irritability — is  not  quite  cer- 
tain, but  she  turned  on  her  music-stool. 

"Ma'am,"  said  she  to  Miss  Wilcox,  "that  girl  does  not 
deserve  so  much  praise.  Her  behavior  is  not  at  all  exemplary. 
In  the  schoolroom  she  is  insolently  distant.  For  my  part  I 
denounce  her  airs ;  there  is  not  one  of  us  but  is  as  good  or  better 
than  she,  though  we  may  not  be  as  rich." 

And  Diana  shut  up  the  piano,  took  her  music-book  under 
her  arm,  curtsied,  and  vanished. 

Strange  to  relate,  Miss  Wilcox  said  not  a  word  at  the  time ; 
nor  was  Diana  subsequently  reprimanded  for  this  outbreak. 
Miss  Fitzgibbon  had  now  been  three  months  in  the  school,  and 
probably  the  governess  had  had  leisure  to  wear  out  her  early 
raptures  of  partiality. 

Indeed,  as  time  advanced,  this  evil  often  seemed  likely  to 
right  itself;  again  and  again  it  seemed  that  Miss  Fitzgibbon 
was  about  to  fall  to  her  proper  level,  but  then,  somewhat  pro- 
vokingly  to  the  lovers  of  reason  and  justice,  some  little  inci- 
dent would  occur  to  invest  her  insignificance  with  artificial 
interest.  Once  it  was  the  arrival  of  a  great  basket  of  hothouse 
fruit — melons,  grapes,  and  pines — as  a  present  to  Miss  Wilcox 
in  Miss  Fitzgibbon's  name.  Whether  it  was  that  a  share  of 
these  luscious  productions  was  imparted  too  freely  to  the  nomi- 
nal donor,  or  whether  she  had  had  a  surfeit  of  cake  on  Miss 
Mabel  Wilcox's  birthday,  it  so  befell,  that  in  some  disturbed 
state  of  the  digestive  organs  Miss  Fitzgibbon  took  to  sleep- 
walking. She  one  night  terrified  the  school  into  a  panic  by 
passing  through  the  bedrooms,  all  white  in  her  night-dress, 
moaning  and  holding  out  her  hands  as  she  went. 

Dr.  Percy  was  then  sent  for ;  his  medicines,  probably,  did  not 
suit  the  case ;  for  within  a  fortnight  after  the  somnambulistic 
feat,  Miss  Wilcox  going  up  stairs  in  the  dark,  trod  on  something 
which  she  thought  was  the  cat,  and  on  calling  for  a  light,  found 
her  darling  Matilda  Fitzgibbon  curled  round  on  the  landing, 
blue,  cold,  and  stiff,  without  any  light  in  her  half-open  eyes,  or 


254  EMMA. 

any  color  in  her  lips  or  movement  in  her  limbs.  She  was  not 
soon  roused  from  this  fit ;  her  senses  seemed  half  scattered ;  and 
Miss  Wilcox  had  now  an  undeniable  excuse  for  keeping  her 
all  day  on  the  drawing-room  sofa,  and  making  more  of  her 
than  ever. 

There  comes  a  day  of  reckoning  both  for  petted  heiresses  and 
partial  governesses. 

One  clear  winter  morning,  as  Mr.  Ellin  was  seated  at  breakfast, 
enjoying  his  bachelor's  easy-chair  and  damp,  fresh  London  news- 
paper, a  note  was  brought  to  him  marked  "  private,"  and  "  in 
haste."  The  last  injunction  was  vain,  for  William  Ellin  did 
nothing  in  haste — he  had  no  haste  in  him  ;  he  wondered  any- 
body should  be  so  foolish  as  to  hurry ;  life  was  short  enough 
without  it.  He  looked  at  the  little  note  —  three-cornered, 
scented,  and  feminine.  He  knew  the  handwriting ;  it  came  from 
the  very  lady  Rumor  had  so  often  assigned  him  as  his  own. 
The  bachelor  took  out  a  morocco  case,  selected  from  a  variety 
of  little  instruments  a  pair  of  scissors,  cut  round  the  seal,  and 
read: — "Miss  Wilcox's  compliments  to  Mr.  Ellin,  and  she 
should  be  truly  glad  to  see  him  for  a  few  minutes,  if  at  leisure. 
Miss  TV.  requires  a  little  advice.  She  will  reserve  explanations 
till  she  sees  Mr.  E." 

Mr.  Ellin  very  quietly  finished  his  breakfast ;  then,  as  it  was 
a  very  fine  December  day — hoar  and  crisp,  but  serene,  and  not 
bitter — he  carefully  prepared  himself  for  the  cold,  took  his  cane, 
and  set  out.  He  liked  the  walk  ;  the  air  was  still ;  the  sun  not 
wholly  ineffectual ;  the  path  firm,  and  but  lightly  powdered 
with  snow.  He  made  his  journey  as  long  as  he  could  by  going 
round  through  many  fields,  and  through  winding,  unfrequented 
lanes.  When  there  was  a  tree  in  the  way  conveniently  placed 
for  support,  he  would  sometimes  stop,  lean  his  back  against  the 
trunk,  fold  his  arms,  and  muse.  If  Rumor  could  have  seen  him, 
she  would  have  affirmed  that  he  was  thinking  about  Miss  Wil- 
cox ;  perhaps  when  he  arrives  at  the  Lodge  his  demeanor  will 
inform  us  whether  such  an  idea  be  warranted. 

At  last  he  stands  at  the  door  and  rings  the  bell ;  he  is  ad- 
mitted, and  shown  into  the  parlor — a  smaller  and  a  more  private 
room  than  the  drawing-room.  Miss  Wilcox  occupies  it :  she  is 
seated  at  her  writing-table;  she  rises — not  without  air  and 


EMMA.  255 

grace — to  receive  her  visitor.  This  air  and  grace  she  learned  in 
France ;  for  she  was  in  a  Parisian  school  for  six  months,  and 
learned  there  a  little  French,  and  a  stock  of  gestures  and  courte- 
sies. No:  it  is  certainly  not  impossible  that  Mr.  Ellin  may 
admire  Miss  Wilcox.  She  is  not  without  prettiuess,  any  more 
than  are  her  sisters  ;  and  she  and  they  are  one  and  all  smart 
and  showy.  Bright  stone-blue  is  a  color  they  like  in  dress ;  a 
crimson  bow  rarely  fails  to  be  pinned  on  somewhere  to  give 
contrast ;  positive  colors  generally — grass-greens,  red  violets, 
deep  yellows — are  in  favor  with  them ;  all  harmonies  are  at  a 
discount.  Many  people  would  think  Miss  Wilcox,  standing 
there  in  her  blue  merino  dress  and  pomegranate  ribbon,  a  very 
agreeable  woman.  She  has  regular  features ;  the  nose  is  a  little 
sharp,  the  lips  a  little  thin,  good  complexion,  light  red  hair. 
She  is  very  business-like,  very  practical ;  she  never  in  her  life 
knew  a  refinement  of  feeling  or  of  thought ;  she  is  entirely 
limited,  respectable,  and  self-satisfied.  She  has  a  cool,  promi- 
nent eye ;  sharp  and  shallow  pupil,  unshrinking  and  inexpan- 
sive ;  pale  irid ;  light  eyelashes,  light  brow.  Miss  Wilcox  is  a 
very  proper  and  decorous  person  ;  but  she  could  not  be  delicate 
or  modest,  because  she  is  naturally  destitute  of  sensitiveness. 
Her  voice,  when  she  speaks,  has  no  vibration ;  her  face  no 
expression;  her  manner  no  emotion.  Blush  or  tremor  she 
never  knew. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Miss  Wilcox  ?"  says  Mr.  Ellin, 
approaching  the  writing-table,  and  taking  a  chair  beside  it. 

"  Perhaps  you  can  advise  me,"  was  the  answer ;  "  or  perhaps 
you  can  give  me  some  information.  I  feel  so  thoroughly  puz- 
zled, and  really  fear  all  is  not  right." 

"  Where  ?  and  how  ?" 

"  I  will  have  redress  if  it  be  possible,"  pursued  the  lady  ; 
"  but  how  to  set  about  obtaining  it !  Draw  to  the  fire,  Mr.  Ellin ; 
it  is  a  cold  day." 

They  both  drew  to  the  fire.  She  continued,  "  You  know  the 
Christmas  holidays  are  near  ?" 

He  nodded. 

"  Well,  about  a  fortnight  since,  I  wrote,  as  is  customary,  to 
the  friends  of  my  pupils,  notifying  the  day  when  we  break  up, 
and  requesting  that,  if  it  was  desired  that  any  girl  should 


256  EMMA. 

stay  the  vacation,  intimation  should  be  sent  accordingly.  Sat- 
isfactory and  prompt  answers  came  to  all  the  notes  except 
one — that  addressed  to  Conway  Fitzgibbon,  Esquire,  May 
Park,  Midland  County  —  Matilda  Fitzgibbon's  father,  you 
know." 

"  What  ?  won't  he  let  her  go  home  ?" 

"  Let  her  go  home,  my  dear  sir !  you  shall  hear.  Two  weeks 
elapsed,  during  which  I  daily  expected  an  answer;  none  came. 
I  felt  annoyed  at  the  delay,  as  I  had  particularly  requested  a 
speedy  reply.  This  very  morning  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
to  write  again,  when — what  do  you  think  the  post  brought 
me?" 

"  I  should  like  to  know." 

"  My  own  letter — actually  my  own — returned  from  the  post- 
office  with  an  intimation — such  an  intimation! — but  read  for 
yourself." 

She  handed  to  Mr.  Ellin  an  envelope ;  he  took  from  it  the 
returned  note  and  a  paper — the  paper  bore  a  hastily-scrawled 
line  or  two.  It  said,  in  brief  terms,  that  there  was  no  such 
place  in  Midland  County  as  May  Park,  and  that  no  such 
person  had  ever  been  heard  of  there  as  Conway  Fitzgibbon, 
Esquire. 

On  reading  this,  Mr.  Ellin  slightly  opened  his  eyes. 

"  I  hardly  thought  it  was  so  bad  as  this,"  said  he. 

"  What  ?  you  did  think  it  was  bad,  then  ?  You  suspected  that 
something  was  wrong  ?" 

"  Really  !  I  scarcely  know  what  I  thought  or  suspected.  How 
very  odd,  no  such  place  as  May  Park !  The  grand  mansion, 
the  grounds,  the  oaks,  the  deer,  vanished  clean  away.  And 
then  Fitzgibbon  himself!  But  you  saw  Fitzgibbon — he  came 
in  his  carriage  ?" 

"  In  his  carriage !"  echoed  Miss  Wilcox ;  "  a  most  stylish 
equipage,  and  himself  a  most  distinguished  person.  Do  you 
think,  after  all,  there  is  some  mistake  ?" 

"  Certainly,  a  mistake ;  but  when  it  is  rectified  I  don't  think 
Fitzgibbon  or  May  Park  will  be  forthcoming.  Shall  I  run 
down  to  Midland  County  and  look  after  these  two  precious 
objects?" 

"  Oh !  would  you  be  so  good,  Mr.  Ellin  ?     I  knew  you  would 


EMMA.  257 

be  so   kind;    personal    inquiry,   you    know — there's    nothing 
like  it." 

"Nothing  at  all.  Meantime,  what  shall  you  do  with  the 
child — the  pseudo-heiress,  if  pseudo  she  be  ?  Shall  you  correct 
her — let  her  know  her  place  ?" 

"  I  think,"  responded  Miss  Wilcox,  reflectively — "  I  think  not 
exactly  as  yet ;  my  plan  is  to  do  nothing  in  a  hurry ;  we  will  in- 
quire first.  If  after  all  she  should  turn  out  to  be  connected  as 
was  at  first  supposed,  one  had  better  not  do  anything  which 
one  might  afterwards  regret.  No ;  I  shall  make  no  difference 
with  her  till  I  hear  from  you  again." 

"  Very  good.  As  you  please,"  said  Mr.  Ellin,  with  that  cool- 
ness which  made  him  so  convenient  a  counsellor  in  Miss  Wil- 
cox's  opinion.  In  his  dry  laconism  she  found  the  response 
suited  to  her  outer  worldliness.  She  thought  he  said  enough  if 
he  did  not  oppose  her.  The  comment  he  stinted  so  avariciously 
she  did  not  want. 

Mr.  Ellin  "  ran  down,"  as  he  said,  to  Midland  County.  It 
was  an  errand  that  seemed  to  suit  him  ;  for  he  had  curious  pre- 
dilections as  well  as  peculiar  methods  of  his  own.  Any  secret 
quest  was  to  his  taste ;  perhaps  there  was  something  of  the  ama- 
teur detective  in  him.  He  could  conduct  an  inquiry  and  draw 
no  attention.  His  quiet  face  never  looked  inquisitive,  nor  did 
his  sleepless  eye  betray  vigilance. 

He  was  away  about  a  week.  The  day  after  his  return  he 
appeared  in  Miss  Wilcox's  presence  as  cool  as  if  he  had  seen  her 
but  yesterday.  Confronting  her  with  that  fathomless  face  he 
liked  to  show  her,  he  first  told  her  he  had  done  nothing. 

Let  Mr.  Ellin  be  as  enigmatical  as  he  would,  he  never  puz- 
zled Miss  Wilcox.  She  never  saw  enigma  in  the  man.  Some 
people  feared,  because  they  did  not  understand  him ;  to  her  it 
had  not  yet  occurred  to  begin  to  spell  his  nature  or  analyze  his 
character.  If  she  had  an  impression  about  him,  it  was,  that  he 
was  an  idle  but  obliging  man,  not  aggressive,  of  few  words,  but 
often  convenient.  Whether  he  were  clever  and  deep,  or  defi- 
cient and  shallow,  close  or  open,  odd  or  ordinary,  she  saw  no 
practical  end  to  be  answered  by  inquiry,  and  therefore  did  not 
inquire. 

"  Why  had  he  done  nothing  ?"  she  now  asked. 
17 


258  EMMA. 

"  Chiefly  because  there  was  nothing  to  do." 

"  Then  he  could  give  her  no  information  ?" 

"Not  much;  only  this,  indeed — Conway  Fitzgibbon  was  a 
man  of  straw ;  May  Park  a  house  of  cards.  There  was  no  ves- 
tige of  such  man  or  mansion  in  Midland  County,  or  in  any  other 
shire  in  England.  Tradition  herself  had  nothing  to  say  about 
either  the  name  or  the  place.  The  Oracle  of  old  deeds  and 
registers,  when  consulted,  had  not  responded." 

"  Who  can  he  be,  then,  that  came  here,  and  who  is  this 
child?" 

"That's  just  what  I  can't  tell  you; — an  incapacity  which 
makes  me  say  I  have  done  nothing." 

"  And  how  am  I  to  get  paid  ?" 

"  Can't  tell  you  that  either." 

"  A  quarter's  board  and  education  owing,  and  masters'  terms 
besides,"  pursued  Miss  Wilcox.  "  How  infamous !  I  can't 
afford  the  loss." 

"  And  if  we  were  only  in  the  good  old  times,"  said  Mr.  Ellin, 
"  where  we  ought  to  be,  you  might  just  send  Miss  Matilda  out 
to  the  plantations  in  Virginia,  sell  her  for  what  she  is  worth, 
and  pay  yourself." 

"Matilda,  indeed,  and  Fitzgibbon!  A  little  impostor.  I 
wonder  what  her  real  name  is  ?" 

"  Betty  Hodge  ?  Poll  Smith  ?  Hannah  Jones  ?"  suggested 
Mr.  Ellin. 

"  Now,"  cried  Miss  Wilcox,  "  give  me  credit  for  sagacity. 
It's  very  odd,  but  try  as  I  would, — and  I  made  every  effort, — I 
never  could  really  like  that  child.  She  has  had  every  indul- 
gence in  this  house;  and  I  am  sure  I  made  great  sacrifice  of 
feeling  to  principle  in  showing  her  much  attention,  for  I  could 
not  make  any  one  believe  the  degree  of  antipathy  I  have  all 
along  felt  towards  her." 

"  Yes.     I  can  believe  it.     I  saw  it." 

"  Did  you  ?  Well,  it  proves  that  my  discernment  is  rarely 
at  fault.  Her  game  is  now  up,  however ;  and  time  it  was.  I 
have  said  nothing  to  her  yet ;  but  now — 

"  Have  her  in  whilst  I  am  here,"  said  Mr.  Ellin.  "  Has  she 
known  of  this  business  ?  Is  she  in  the  secret  ?  Is  she  herself 
an  accomplice,  or  a  mere  tool  ?  Have  her  in." 


EMMA.  259 

Miss  Wilcox  rang  the  bell,  demanded  Matilda  Fitzgibbon, 
and  the  false  heiress  soon  appeared.  She  came  in  her  ringlets, 
her  sash,  and  her  furbelowed  dress  adornments,  alas !  no  longer 
acceptable. 

"  Stand  there !"  said  Miss  Wilcox  sternly,  checking  her  as 
she  approached  the  hearth.  "  Stand  there  on  the  further  side 
of  the  table.  I  have  a  few  questions  to  put  to  you,  and  your 
business  will  be  to  answer  them.  And  mind,  let  us  have  the 
truth.  We  will  not  endure  lies" 

Ever  since  Miss  Fitzgibbon  had  been  found  in  the  fit,  her 
face  had  retained  a  peculiar  paleness  and  her  eyes  a  dark  orbit. 
When  thus  addressed,  she  began  to  shake  and  blanch  like  con- 
scious guilt  personified. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  demanded  Miss  Wilcox.  "  What  do  you 
know  about  yourself?" 

A  sort  of  half-interjection  escaped  the  girl's  lips ;  it  was  a 
sound  expressing  partly  fear,  and  partly  the  shock  which  the 
nerves  feel  when  an  evil,  very  long  expected,  at  last  and  sud- 
denly arrives. 

"Keep  yourself  still,  and  reply,  if  you  please,"  said  Miss 
Wilcox,  whom  nobody  should  blame  for  lacking  pity,  because 
nature  had  not  made  her  compassionate.  "  What  is  your 
name  ?  We  know  you  have  no  right  to  that  of  Matilda  Fitz- 
gibbon." 

She  gave  no  answer. 

"  I  do  insist  upon  a  reply.  Speak  you  shall,  sooner  or  later. 
So  you  had  better  do  it  at  once." 

This  inquisition  had  evidently  a  very  strong  effect  upon  the 
subject  of  it.  She  stood  as  if  palsied,  trying  to  speak,  but  appa- 
rently not  competent  to  articulate. 

Miss  Wilcox  did  not  fly  into  a  passion,  but  she  grew  very 
stern  and  urgent,  spoke  a  little  loud,  and  there  was  a  dry 
clamor  in  her  raised  voice  which  seemed  to  beat  upon  the  ear 
and  bewilder  the  brain.  Her  interest  had  been  injured — her 
pocket  wounded.  She  was  vindicating  her  rights,  and  she  had 
no  eye  to  see,  and  no  nerve  to  feel,  but  for  the  point  in  hand. 
Mr.  Ellin  appeared  to  consider  himself  strictly  a  looker-on  ;  he 
stood  on  the  hearth  very  quiet. 

At  last  the  culprit  spoke.  A  low  voice  escaped  her  lips.  "  Oh, 


260  EMMA, 

my  head !"  she  cried,  lifting  her  hands  to  her  forehead.  She 
staggered,  but  caught  the  door  and  did  not  fall.  Some  accusers 
might  have  been  startled  by  such  a  cry — even  silenced ;  not  so 
Miss  Wilcox.  She  was  neither  cruel  nor  violent ;  but  she  was 
coarse,  because  insensible.  Having  just  drawn  breath,  she  went 
on,  harsh  as  ever. 

Mr.  Ellin,  leaving  the  hearth,  deliberately  paced  up  the 
room,  as  if  he  were  tired  of  standing  still,  and  would  walk  a 
little  for  a  change.  In  returning  and  passing  near  the  door  and 
the  criminal,  a  faint  breath  seemed  to  seek  his  ear,  whispering 
his  name, — 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Ellin !" 

The  child  dropped  as  she  spoke.  A  curious  voice — not  like 
Mr.  Ellin's,  though  it  came  from  his  lips — asked  Miss  Wilcox 
to  cease  speaking,  and  say  no  more.  He  gathered  from  the 
floor  what  had  fallen  on  it.  She  seemed  overcome,  but  not  un- 
conscious. Resting  beside  Mr.  Ellin,  in  a  few  minutes  she 
again  drew  breath.  She  raised  her  eyes  to  him. 

"  Come,  my  little  one ;  have  no  fear,"  said  he. 

Reposing  her  head  against  him,  she  gradually  became  re- 
assured. It  did  not  cost  him  another  word  to  bring  her  round ; 
even  that  strong  trembling  was  calmed  by  the  mere  effects  of 
his  protection.  He  told  Miss  Wilcox  with  remarkable  tran- 
quillity, but  still  with  a  certain  decision,  that  the  little  girl  must 
be  put  to  bed.  He  carried  her  up  stairs,  and  saw  her  laid  there 
himself.  Returning  to  Miss  Wilcox,  he  said,  "  Say  no  more  to 
her.  Beware,  or  you  will  do  more  mischief  than  you  think  or 
wish.  That  kind  of  nature  is  very  different  from  yours.  It  is 
not  possible  that  you  should  like  it ;  but  let  it  alone.  We  will 
talk  more  on  the  subject  to-morrow.  Let  me  question  her." 


POEMS. 


PILATE'S  WIFE'S  DREAM. 

I'VE  quenched  my  lamp,  I  struck  it  in  that  start 
.Which  every  limb  convulsed,  I  heard  it  fall — 

The  crash  blent  with  my  sleep,  I  saw  depart 
Its  light,  even  as  I  woke,  on  yonder  wall ; 

Over  against  my  bed,  there  shone  a  gleam 

Strange,  faint,  and  mingling  also  with  my  dream. 

It  sank,  and  I  am  wrapt  in  utter  gloom ; 

HOAV  far  is  night  advanced,  and  when  will  day 
Re-tinge  the  dusk  and  livid  air  with  bloom, 

And  fill  this  void  with  warm,  creative  ray  ? 
Would  I  could  sleep  again  till,  clear  and  red, 
Morning  shall  on  the  mountain-tops  be  spread ! 

I'd  call  my  women,  but  to  break  their  sleep, 
Because  my  own  is  broken,  were  unjust ; 

They've  wrought  all  day,  and  well-earned  slumbers  steep 
Their  labors  in  forgetfulness,  I  trust : 

Let  me  my  feverish  watch  with  patience  bear, 

Thankful  that  none  with  me  its  sufferings  share. 

Yet  oh !  for  light !  one  ray  would  tranquillize 
My  nerves,  my  pulses,  more  than  effort  can ; 

I'll  draw  my  curtain  and  consult  the  skies. 

These  trembling  stars  at  dead  of  night  look  wan, 

Wild,  restless,  strange,  yet  cannot  be  more  drear 

Than  this  my  couch  shared  by  a  nameless  fear. 

All  black — one  great  cloud  drawn  from  east  to  west 
Conceals  the  heavens,  but  there  are  lights  below ; 

Torches  burn  in  Jerusalem,  and  cast 
On  yonder  stony  mount  a  lurid  glow. 

(263) 


264  POEMS. 

I  see  men  stationed  there,  and  gleaming  spears ; 
A  sound,  too,  from  afar  invades  my  ears. 

Dull,  measured  strokes  of  axe  and  hammer  ring 

From  street  to  street,  not  loud,  but  through  the  night 

Distinctly  heard — and  some  strange  spectral  thing 
Is  now  uprear'd — and,  fixed  against  the  light 

Of  the  pale  lamps,  defined  upon  that  sky, 

It  stands  up  like  a  column  straight  and  high. 

I  see  it  all — I  know  the  dusky  sign — 
A  cross  on  Calvary,  which  Jews  uprear 

While  Romans  watch  ;  and  when  the  dawn  shall  shine, 
Pilate,  to  judge  the  victim,  will  appear — 

Pass  sentence — yield  Him  up  to  crucify ; 

And  on  that  cross  the  spotless  Christ  must  die. 

Dreams,  then,  are  true — for  thus  my  vision  ran ; 

Surely  some  oracle  has  been  with  me, 
The  gods  have  chosen  me  to  reveal  their  plan, 

To  warn  an  unjust  judge  of  destiny ; 
I,  slumbering,  heard  and  saw ;  awake  I  know, 
Christ's  coming  death,  and  Pilate's  life  of  woe. 

I  do  not  weep  for  Pilate — who  could  prove 
Regret  for  him  whose  cold  and  crushing  sway 

No  prayer  can  soften,  no  appeal  can  move ; 
Who  tramples  hearts  as  others  trample  clay, 

Yet  with  a  faltering,  an  uncertain  tread, 

That  might  stir  up  reprisal  in  the  dead. 

Forced  to  sit  by  his  side  and  see  his  deeds ; 

Forced  to  behold  that  visage,  hour  by  hour, 
In  whose  gaunt  lines  the  abhorrent  gazer  reads 

A  triple  lust  of  gold,  and  blood,  and  power ; 
A  soul  whom  motives  fierce,  yet  abject,  urge — 
Rome's  servile  slave,  and  Judah's  tyrant  scourge ; 

How  can  I  love,  or  mourn,  or  pity  him  ? 

I,  who  so  long  my  fetter'd  hands  have  wrung  ; 
I,  who  for  grief  have  wept  my  eyesight  dim ; 

Because,  while  life  for  me  was  bright  and  young, 


PfLATH'S  WIFE'S  DREAM.  265 

He  robb'd  my  youth — he  quench'd  my  life's  fair  ray — 
He  crush'd  my  mind,  and  did  my  freedom  slay. 

And  at  this  hour — although  I  be  his  wife — 

He  has  no  more  of  tenderness  from  me 
Than  any  other  wretch  of  guilty  life  ; 

Less,  for  I  know  his  household  privacy — 
I  see  him  as  he  is — without  a  screen ; 
And,  by  the  gods,  my  soul  abhors  his  mien! 

Has  he  not  sought  my  presence,  dyed  in  blood — 
Innocent,  righteous  blood,  shed  shamelessly  ? 

And  have  I  not  his  red  salute  withstood  ? 
Ay,  when,  as  erst,  he  plunged  all  Galilee 

In  dark  bereavement — in  affliction  sore, 

Mingling  their  very  offerings  with  their  gore. 

Then  came  he — in  his  eyes  a  serpent-smile, 

Upon  his  lips  some  false,  endearing  word, 
And  through  the  streets  of  Salem  clang'd  the  while 

His  slaughtering,  hacking,  sacrilegious  sword — 
And  I,  to  see  a  man  cause  men  such  woe, 
Trembled  with  ire  I  did  not  fear  to  show. 

And  now  the  envious  Jewish  priests  have  brought 
Jesus — whom  they  in  mock'ry  call  their  king — 

To  have,  by  this  grim  power,  their  vengeance  wrought ; 
By  this  mean  reptile,  innocence  to  sting. 

Oh !  could  I  but  the  purposed  doom  avert, 

And  shield  the  blameless  head  from  cruel  hurt ! 

Accessible  is  Pilate's  heart  to  fear, 

Omens  will  shake  his  soul  like  autumn  leaf; 

Could  he  this  night's  appalling  vision  hear, 

This  just  man's  bonds  were  loosed,  his  life  were  safe, 

Unless  that  bitter  priesthood  should  prevail, 

And  make  even  terror  to  their  malice  quail. 

Yet  if  I  tell  the  dream — but  let  me  pause. 

What  dream  ?     Erewhile  the  characters  were  clear, 
Graved  on  my  brain — at  once  some  unknown  cause 

Has  dirnm'd  and  razed  the  thoughts,  which  now  appear, 


266  POEMS. 

Like  a  vague  remnant  of  some  bypast  scene ; — 
Not  what  will  be,  but  what,  long  since,  has  been. 

I  suffer'd  many  things — I  heard  foretold 

A  dreadful  doom  for  Pilate, — lingering  woes, 

In  far  barbarian  climes,  where  mountains  cold 
Built  up  a  solitude  of  trackless  snows : 

There  he  and  grisly  wolves  prowl'd  side  by  side, 

There  he  lived  famish'd — there,  methought,  he  died  ; 

But  not  of  hunger,  nor  by  malady ; 

I  saw  the  snow  around  him,  stain'd  with  gore ; 
I  said  I  had  no  tears  for  such  as  he, 

And  lo !  my  cheek  is  wet — mine  eyes  run  o'er ; 
I  weep  for  mortal  suffering,  mortal  guilt, 
I  weep  the  impious  deed,  the  blood  self-spilt. 

More  I  recall  not,  yet  the  vision  spread 
Into  a  world  remote,  an  age  to  come — 

And  still  the  illumined  name  of  Jesus  shed 

A  light,  a  clearness,  through  the  unfolding  gloom— 

And  still  I  saw  that  sign,  which  now  I  see, 

That  cross  on  yonder  brow  of  Calvary. 

What  is  this  Hebrew  Christ  ? — to  me  unknown 
His  lineage — doctrine — mission ;  yet  how  clear 

Is  god-like  goodness  in  His  actions  shown, 
How  straight  and  stainless  is  His  life's  career  I 

The  ray  of  Deity  that  rests  on  Him, 

In  my  eyes  makes  Olympian  glory  dim. 

The  world  advances ;  Greek  or  Roman  rite 
Suffices  not  the  inquiring  mind  to  stay ; 

The  searching  soul  demands  a  purer  light 
To  guide  it  on  its  upward,  onward  way ; 

Ashamed  of  sculptured  gods,  Religion  turns 

To  where  the  unseen  Jehovah's  altar  burns. 

Our  faith  is  rotten,  all  our  rights  defiled, 

Our  temples  sullied,  and,  methinks,  this  man, 

"With  his  new  ordinance,  so  wise  and  mild, 
Is  come,  even  as  He  says,  the  chaff  to  fan 


MEMENTOS.  267 

And  sever  from  the  wheat ;  but  will  his  faith 
Survive  the  terrors  of  to-morrow's  death  ? 

****** 
I  feel  a  firmer  trust — a  higher  hope 

Eise  in  my  soul — it  dawns  with  dawning  day ; 
Lo !  on  the  Temple's  roof — on  Moriah's  slope, 

Appears  at  length  that  clear  and  crimson  ray 
Which  I  so  wished  for  when  shut  in  by  night ; 
Oh,  opening  skies,  I  hail,  I  bless  your  light! 

Part,  clouds  and  shadows !     Glorious  Sun,  appear ! 

Part,  mental  gloom  !     Come,  insight  from  on  high ! 
Dusk  dawn  in  heaven  still  strives  with  daylight  clear, 

The  longing  soul  doth  still  uncertain  sigh. 
Oh  !  to  behold  the  truth — that  sun  divine — 
How  doth  my  bosom  pant,  my  spirit  pine ! 

This  day,  Time  travails  with  a  mighty  birth ; 

This  day,  Truth  stoops  from  heaven  and  visits  earth; 

Ere  night  descends  I  shall  more  surely  know 

What  guide  to  follow,  in  what  path  to  go ; 

I  wait  in  hope — I  wait  in  solemn  fear, 

The  oracle  of  God — the  sole — true  God — to  hear. 


MEMENTOS. 

ARRANGING  long-locked  drawers  and  shelves 

Of  cabinets  shut  up  for  years, 
What  a  strange  task  we've  set  ourselves ! 

How  still  the  lonely  room  appears! 
How  strange  this  mass  of  ancient  treasures, 
Mementos  of  past  pains  and  pleasures ; 
These  volumes,  clasped  with  costly  stone, 
With  print  all  fading,  gilding  gone ; 
These  fans  of  leaves,  from  Indian  trees — 
These  crimson  shells,  from  Indian  seas — 


268  POEMS. 

These  tiny  portraits,  set  in  rings — 

Once,  doubtless,  deemed  such  precious  things; 

Keepsakes  bestowed  by  Love  on  Faith, 

And  worn  till  the  receiver's  death, 

Now  stored  with  cameos,  china,  shells, 

In  this  old  closet's  dusty  cells. 

I  scarcely  think,  for  ten  long  years, 
A  hand  has  touched  these  relics  old ; 

And,  coating  each,  slow-formed,  appears 
The  growth  of  green  and  antique  mould. 

All  in  this  house  is  mossing  over ; 

All  is  unused,  and  dim,  and  damp; 
Nor  light,  nor  warmth,  the  rooms  discover — 

Bereft  for  years  of  fire  and  lamp. 

The  sun,  sometimes  in  summer,  enters 
The  casements,  with  reviving  ray ; 

But  the  long  rains  of  many  winters 
Moulder  the  very  walls  away. 

And  outside  all  is  ivy,  clinging 
To  chimney,  lattice,  gable  gray ; 

Scarcely  one  little  red  rose  springing 

Through  the  green  moss  can  force  its  way. 

Unscared,  the  daw  and  starling  nestle 
Where  the  tall  turret  rises  high, 

And  winds  alone  come  near  to  rustle 
The  thick  leaves  where  their  cradles  lie. 

I  sometimes  think,  when  late  at  even 

I  climb  the  stair  reluctantly, 
Some  shape  that  should  be  well  in  heaven, 

Or  ill  elsewhere,  will  pass  by  me. 

I  fear  to  see  the  very  faces 

Familiar  thirty  years  ago, 
Even  in  the  old  accustomed  places 

Which  look  so  cold  and  gloomy  now. 
I've  come,  to  close  the  window,  hither, 

At  twilight,  when  the  sun  was  down, 


MEMENTOS.  269 

And  Fear  my  very  soul  would  wither, 
Lest  something  should  be  dimly  shown, 

Too  much  the  buried  form  resembling, 

Of  her  who  once  was  mistress  here ; 
Lest  doubtful  shade,  or  moonbeam  trembling, 

Might  take  her  aspect,  once  so  dear. 

Hers  was  this  chamber  ;  in  her  time 

It  seemed  to  me  a  pleasant  room, 
For  then  no  cloud  of  grief  or  crime 

Had  cursed  it  with  a  settled  gloom ; 

I  had  not  seen  death's  image  laid 
In  shroud  and  sheet,  on  yonder  bed. 

Before  she  married,  she  was  blest — 
Blest  in  her  youth,  blest  in  her  worth ; 

Her  mind  was  calm,  its  sunny  rest 
Shone  in  her  eyes  more  clear  than  mirth. 

And  when  attired  in  rich  array, 

Light,  lustrous  hair  about  her  brow, 
She  yonder  sat,  a  kind  of  day 

Lit  up  what  seems  so  gloomy  now. 
These  grim  oak  walls  even  then  were  grim  ; 

That  old  carved  chair  was  then  antique ; 
But  what  around  looked  dusk  and  dim 

Served  as  a  foil  to  her  fresh  cheek ; 
Her  neck  and  arms,  of  hue  so  fair, 

Eyes  of  unclouded,  smiling  light ; 
Her  soft,  and  curled,  and  floating  hair, 

Gems  and  attire,  as  rainbow  bright. 

Reclined  in  yonder  deep  recess, 

Ofttimes  she  would,  at  evening,  lie 
"Watching  the  sun  ;  she  seemed  to  bless 

With  happy  glance  the  glorious  sky. 
She  loved  such  scenes,  and  as  she  gazed, 

Her  face  evinced  her  spirit's  mood ; 
Beauty  or  grandeur  ever  raised 

In  her  a  deep-felt  gratitude. 


270  POEMS. 

But  of  all  lovely  things,  she  loved 

A  cloudless  moon  on  summer  night ; 
Full  oft  have  I  impatience  proved 

To  see  how  long  her  still  delight 
Would  find  a  theme  in  reverie, 

Out  on  the  lawn,  or  where  the  trees 
Let  in  the  lustre  fitfully, 
As  their  boughs  parted  momently 

To  the  soft,  languid  summer  breeze. 
Alas !  that  she  should  e'er  have  flung 

Those  pure  though  lonely  joys  away : 
Deceived  by  false  and  guileful  tongue, 
She  gave  her  hand,  then  suffered  wrong ; 
Oppressed,  ill-used,  she  faded  young, 

And  died  of  grief  by  slow  decay. 

Open  that  casket — look  how  bright 
Those  jewels  flash  upon  the  sight ; 
The  brilliants  have  not  lost  a  ray 
Of  lustre  since  her  wedding-day. 
But  see — upon  that  pearly  chain, 
How  dim  lies  Time's  discoloring  stain ! 
I've  seen  that  by  her  daughter  worn : 
For  ere  she  died  a  child  was  born, — 
A  child  that  ne'er  its  mother  knew, 
That  lone  and  almost  friendless  grew ; 
For,  ever,  when  its  step  drew  nigh, 
Averted  was  the  father's  eye ; 
And  then  a  life  impure  and  wild 
Made  him  a  stranger  to  his  child ; 
Absorbed  in  vice,  he  little  cared 
On  what  she  did,  or  how  she  fared. 
The  love  withheld  she  never  sought, 
She  grew  uncherished — learned  untaught ; 
To  her  the  inward  life  of  thought 

Full  soon  was  open  laid. 
I  know  not  if  her  friendlessness 
Did  sometimes  on  her  spirit  press, 

But  plaint  she  never  made. 


MEMENTOS.  271 

The  book-shelves  were  her  darling  treasure, 
She  rarely  seemed  the  time  to  measure 

While  she  could  read  alone. 
And  she  too  loved  the  twilight  wood, 
And  often  in  her  mother's  mood, 

Away  to  yonder  hill  would  hie, 
Like  her,  to  watch  the  setting  sun, 
Or  see  the  stars  born,  one  by  one, 

Out  of  the  darkening  sky. 
Nor  would  she  leave  that  hill  till  night 
Trembled  from  pole  to  pole  with  light  ; 

Even  then,  upon  her  homeward  way, 
Long,  long  her  wandering  steps  delayed 
To  quit  the  sombre  forest  shade, 
Through  which  her  eerie  pathway  lay. 
You  ask  if  she  had  beauty's  grace  ? 
I  know  not — but  a  nobler  face 

My  eyes  have  seldom  seen  ; 
A  keen  and  fine  intelligence, 
And,  better  still,  the  truest  sense 

Were  in  her  speaking  mien. 
But  bloom  or  lustre  was  there  none, 
Only  at  moments  fitful  shone 

An  ardor  in  her  eye, 
That  kindled  on  her  cheek  a  flush, 
Warm  as  a  red  sky's  passing  blush, 

And  quick  with  energy. 
Her  speech,  too,  was  not  common  speech, 
No  wish  to  shine,  or  aim  to  teach, 

Was  in  her  words  displayed : 
She  still  began  with  quiet  sense, 
But  oft  the  force  of  eloquence 

Came  to  her  lips  in  aid ; 
Language  and  voice  unconscious  changed, 
And  thoughts,  in  other  words  arranged, 

Her  fervid  soul  transfused 
Into  the  hearts  of  those  who  heard, 
And  transient  strength  and  ardor  stirred 

In  minds  to  strength  unused : 


272  POEMS. 

Yet  in  gay  crowd  or  festal  glare, 

Grave  and  retiring  was  her  air ; 

'Twas  seldom,  save  with  me  alone, 

That  fire  of  feeling  freely  shone ; 

She  loved  not  awe's  nor  wonder's  gaze, 

Nor  even  exaggerated  praise, 

Nor  even  notice,  if  too  keen 

The  curious  gazer  searched  her  mien. 

Nature's  own  green  expanse  revealed 

The  world,  the  pleasures  she  could  prize  ; 

On  free  hill-side,  in  sunny  field, 

In  quiet  spots  by  woods  concealed 

Grew  wild  and  fresh  her  chosen  joys — 

Yet  Nature's  feelings  deeply  lay 
In  that  endowed  and  youthful  frame ; 

Shrined  in  her  heart  and  hid  from  day, 
They  burned  unseen  with  silent  flame. 

In  youth's  first  search  for  mental  light, 
She  lived  but  to  reflect  and  learn, 

But  soon  her  mind's  malurer  might 
For  stronger  task  did  pant  and  yearn  ; 

And  stronger  task  did  fate  assign, 
Task  that  a  giant's  strength  might  strain ; 

To  suffer  long  and  ne'er  repine, 
Be  calm  in  frenzy,  smile  at  pain. 

Pale  with  the  secret  war  of  feeling, 
Sustained  with  courage,  mute  yet  high, 

The  wounds  at  which  she  bled  revealing 
Only  by  altered  cheek  and  eye, 

She  bore  in  silence ;  but  when  passion 
Surged  in  her  soul  with  ceaseless  foam, 

The  storm  at  last  brought  desolation, 
And  drove  her  exiled  from  her  home. 

And  silent  still,  she  straight  assembled 
The  wrecks  of  strength  her  soul  retained  ; 

For  though  the  wasted  body  trembled, 
The  unconquered  mind  to  quail  disdained. 


MIMENTOS.  273 

She  crossed  the  sea — now  lone  she  wanders 
By  Seine's,  or  Rhine's,  or  Arno's  flow  : 

Fain  would  I  know  if  distance  renders 
Relief  or  comfort  to  her  woe. 

Fain  would  I  know  if,  henceforth,  ever, 

These  eyes  shall  read  in  hers  again, 
That  light  of  love  which  faded  never, 

Though  dimmed  so  long  with  secret  pain. 

She  will  return,  but  cold  and  altered, 
Like  all  whose  hopes  too  soon  depart ; 

Like  all  on  whom  have  beat,  unsheltered, 
The  bitter  blasts  that  blight  the  heart. 

No  more  shall  I  behold  her  lying 

Calm  on  a  pillow  smoothed  by  me ; 
No  more  that  spirit,  worn  with  sighing, 

Will  know  the  rest  of  infancy. 

If  still  the  paths  of  lore  she  follow, 

'Twill  be  with  tired  and  goaded  will ; 
She'll  only  toil,  the  aching  hollow, 

The  joyless  blank  of  life  to  fill. 

And  oh !  full  oft,  quite  spent  and  weary, 
Her  hand  will  pause,  her  head  decline ; 

That  labor  seems  so  hard  and  dreary, 
On  which  no  ray  of  hope  may  shine. 

Thus  the  pale  blight  of  time  and  sorrow 
Will  shade  with  gray  her  soft,  dark  hair  ; 

Then  comes  the  day  that  knows  no  morrow, 
And  death  succeeds  to  long  despair. 

So  speaks  experience,  sage  and  hoary ; 

I  see  it  plainly,  know  it  well, 
Like  one  who,  having  read  a  story, 

Each  incident  therein  can  tell. 

Touch  not  that  ring ;  'twas  his,  the  sire 

Of  that  forsaken  child  ; 
And  nought  his  relics  can  inspire 

Save  memories  sin-defiled. 
18 


274  POEMS. 

I,  who  sat  by  his  wife's  death-bed, 

I,  who  his  daughter  loved, 
Could  almost  curse  the  guilty  dead, 

For  woes  the  guiltless  proved. 

And  heaven  did  curse — they  found  him  laid, 
When  crime  for  wrath  was  ripe, 

Cold — with  the  suicidal  blade 
Clutched  in  his  desperate  gripe. 

'Twas  near  that  long-deserted  hut, 

Which  in  the  wood  decays, 
Death's  axe,  self-wielded,  struck  his  root, 

And  lopped  his  desperate  days. 

You  know  the  spot,  where  three  black  trees 

Lift  up  their  branches  fell, 
And  moaning,  ceaseless  as  the  seas, 
Still  seem,  in  every  passing  breeze, 

The  deed  of  blood  to  tell. 

They  named  him  mad,  and  laid  his  bones 

Where  holier  ashes  lie; 
Yet  doubt  not  that  his  spirit  groans 

In  hell's  eternity. 

But,  lo !  night  closing  o'er  the  earth 
Infects  our  thoughts  with  gloom ; 
Come,  let  us  strive  to  rally  mirth 
Where  glows  a  clear  and  tranquil  hearth 
In  some  more  cheerful  room. 


THE  WIFE'S  WILL. 

SIT  still — a  word — a  breath  may  break 
(As  light  airs  stir  a  sleeping  lake) 
The  glassy  calm  that  soothes  my  woes— 
The  sweet,  the  deep,  the  full  repose. 


TEE  WIFE'S  WILL.  275 

0  leave  me  not !  for  ever  be 
Thus,  more  than  life  itself  to  me ! 

Yes,  close  beside  thee  let  me  kneel — 
Give  me  thy  hand,  that  I  may  feel 
The  friend  so  true — so  tried — so  dear, 
My  heart's  own  chosen — indeed  is  near ; 
And  check  me  not — this  hour  divine 
Belongs  to  me — is  fully  mine. 

'Tis  thy  own  hearth  thou  sitt'st  beside, 
After  long  absence — wandering  wide ; 
'Tis  thine  own  wife  reads  in  thine  eyes 
A  promise  clear  of  stormless  skies ; 
For  faith  and  true  love  light  the  rays 
Which  shine  responsive  to  her  gaze. 

Ay, — well  that  single  tear  may  fall  ; 
Ten  thousand  might  mine  eyes  recall, 
Which  from  their  lids  ran  blinding  fast, 
In  hours  of  grief,  yet  scarcely  past ; 
Well  may'st  thou  speak  of  love  to  me, 
For,  oh !  most  truly — I  love  thee ! 

Yet  smile — for  we  are  happy  now. 
Whence,  then,  that  sadness  on  thy  brow  ? 
What  sayest  thou  ?    "  We  must  once  again, 
Ere  long,  be  severed  by  the  main !" 

1  knew  not  this — I  deemed  no  more 
Thy  step  would  err  from  Britain's  shore. 

"  Duty  commands  1"     'Tis  true — 'tis  just ; 
Thy  slightest  word  I  wholly  trust, 
For  by  request,  nor  faintest  sigh, 
Would  I  to  turn  thy  purpose  try ; 
But,  William,  hear  my  solemn  vow — 
Hear  and  confirm ! — with  thee  I  go. 

"  Distance  and  suffering,"  didst  thou  say? 
"  Danger  by  night,  and  toil  by  day  ?" 
Oh,  idle  words  and  vain  are  these ; 
Hear  me !     I  cross  with  thee  the  seas. 


r276  POEMS. 

Such  risk  as  thou  must  meet  and  dare, 
I — thy  true  wife — will  duly  share. 

Passive,  at  home,  I  will  not  pine ; 
Thy  toils,  thy  perils  shall  be  mine ; 
Grant  this — and  be  hereafter  paid 
By  a  warm  heart's  devoted  aid ; 
'Tis  granted — with  that  yielding  kiss, 
Entered  my  soul  unmingled  bliss. 

Thanks,  William,  thanks !  thy  love  has  joy, 
Pure,  undefiled  with  base  alloy ! 
'Tis  not  a  passion  false  and  blind 
Inspires,  enchains,  absorbs  my  mind ; 
Worthy,  I  feel,  art  thou  to  be 
Loved  with  my  perfect  energy. 

This  evening  now  shall  sweetly  flow, 
Lit  by  our  clear  fire's  happy  glow ; 
And  parting's  peace-embittering  fear 
Is  warned  our  hearts  to  come  not  near ; 
For  fate  admits  my  soul's  decree, 
In  bliss  or  bale — to  go  with  thee ! 


THE  WOOD. 

Bur  two  miles  more,  and  then  we  rest  1 
Well,  there  is  still  an  hour  of  day, 

And  long  the  brightness  of  the  West 
Will  light  us  on  our  devious  way ; 

Sit  then,  awhile,  here  in  this  wood — 

So  total  is  the  solitude, 

We  safely  may  delay. 

These  massive  roots  afford  a  seat, 

Which  seems  for  weary  travellers  made. 

There  rest.     The  air  is  soft  and  sweet 
In  this  sequestered  forest  glade, 


THE  WOOD.  277 

And  there  are  scents  of  flowers  around, 
The  evening  dew  draws  from  the  ground ; 
How  soothingly  they  spread ! 

Yes ;  I  was  tired,  but  not  at  heart; 

No — that  beats  full  of  sweet  content, 
For  now  I  have  my  natural  part 

Of  action  with  adventure  blent  ; 
Cast  forth  on  the  wide  world  with  thee, 
And  all  my  once  waste  energy 
To  weighty  purpose  bent. 

Yet — sayest  thou,  spies  around  us  roam, 

Our  aims  are  termed  conspiracy  ? 
Haply,  no  more  our  English  home 

An  anchorage  for  us  may  be  ? 
That  there  is  risk  our  mutual  blood 
May  redden  in  some  lonely  wood 
The  knife  of  treachery  ? 

Say'st  thou,  that  where  we  lodge  each  night, 

In  each  lone  farm  or  lonelier  hall 
Of  Norman  peer — ere  morning  light 

Suspicion  must  as  duly  fall, 
As  day  returns — such  vigilance 
Presides  and  watches  over  France, 
Such  rigor  governs  all  ? 

I  fear  not,  William ;  dost  thou  fear? 

So  that  the  knife  does  not  divide, 
It  may  be  ever  hovering  near : 

I  could  not  tremble  at  thy  side, 
And  strenuous  love — like  mine  for  thee — 
Is  buckler  strong  'gainst  treachery, 
And  turns  its  stab  aside. 

I  am  resolved  that  thou  shalt  learn 

To  trust  my  strength  as  I  trust  thine ; 
I  am  resolved  our  souls  shall  burn 

With  equal,  steady,  mingling  shine ; 


278  POEMS. 

Part  of  the  field  is  conquered  now, 
Our  lives  in  the  same  channel  flow, 
Along  the  self-same  line ; 

And  while  no  groaning  storm  is  heard, 
Thou  seem'st  content  it  should  be  so, 

But  soon  as  comes  a  warning  word 

Of  danger — straight  thine  anxious  brow 

Bends  over  me  a  mournful  shade, 

As  doubting  if  my  powers  are  made 
To  ford  the  floods  of  woe. 

Know,  then  it  is  my  spirit  swells, 
And  drinks,  with  eager  joy,  the  air 

Of  freedom — where  at  last  it  dwells, 
Chartered,  a  common  task  to  share 

With  thee,  and  then  it  stirs  alert, 

And  pants  to  learn  what  menaced  hurt 
Demands  for  thee  its  care. 

Remember,  I  have  crossed  the  deep, 
And  stood  with  thee  on  deck,  to  gaze 

On  waves  that  rose  in  threatening  heap, 
Whilst  stagnant  lay  a  heavy  haze, 

Dimly  confusing  sea  with  sky, 

And  baffling,  even,  the  pilot's  eye, 
Intent  to  thread  the  maze 

Of  rocks,  on  Bretagne's  dangerous  coast, 
And  find  a  way  to  steer  our  band 

To  the  one  point  obscure,  which  lost, 
Flung  us,  as  victims,  on  the  strand ; — 

All  elsewhere  gleamed  the  Gallic  sword, 

And  not  a  wherry  could  be  moored 
Along  the  guarded  land. 

I  feared  not  then — I  fear  not  now ; 

The  interest  of  each  stirring  scene 
Wakes  a  new  sense,  a  welcome  glow, 

In  every  nerve  and  bounding  vein ; 


THE  WOOD.  279 


Alike  on  turbid  Channel  sea, 
Or  in  still  wood  of  Normandy, 
I  feel  as  born  again. 

The  rain  descended  that  wild  morn 
When,  anchoring  in  the  cove  at  last, 

Our  band,  all  weary  and  forlorn, 

Ashore,  like  wave-worn  sailors,  cast — 

Sought  for  a  sheltering  roof  in  vain, 

And  scarce  could  scanty  food  obtain 
To  break  their  morning  fast. 

Thou  didst  thy  crust  with  me  divide, 
Thou  didst  thy  cloak  around  me  fold ; 

And,  sitting  silent  by  thy  side, 
I  ate  the  bread  of  peace  untold : 

Given  kindly  from  thy  hand,  'twas  sweet 

As  costly  fare  or  princely  treat 
On  royal  plate  of  gold. 

Sharp  blew  the  sleet  upon  my  face, 
And,  rising  wild,  the  gusty  wind 

Drove  on  those  thundering  waves  apace, 
Our  crew  so  late  had  left  behind  ; 

But,  spite  of  frozen  shower  and  storm, 

So  close  to  thee,  my  heart  beat  warm, 
And  tranquil  slept  my  mind. 

So  now — nor  footsore  nor  opprest 
With  walking  all  this  August  day, 

I  taste  a  heaven  in  this  brief  rest, 
This  gipsy-halt  beside  the  way. 

England's  wild  flowers  are  fair  to  view, 

Like  balm  is  England's  summer  dew, 
Like  gold  her  sunset  ray. 

But  the  white  violets  growing  here 
Are  sweeter  than  I  yet  have  seen, 

And  ne'er  did  dew  so  pure  and  clear 
Distil  on  forest  mosses  green, 


280  POEMS. 

As  now,  called  forth  by  summer  heat, 
Perfumes  our  cool  and  fresh  retreat — 
These  fragrant  limes  between. 

That  sunset !     Look  beneath  the  boughs, 

Over  the  copse — beyond  the  hills ; 
How  soft,  yet  deep  and  warm,  it  glows, 

And  heaven  with  rich  suffusion  fills ; 
With  hues  where  still  the  opal's  tint, 
Its  gleam  of  prisoned  fire,  is  blent, 

Where  flame  through  azure  thrills  I 

Depart  we  now — for  fast  will  fade 

That  solemn  splendor  of  decline, 
And  deep  must  be  the  after-shade, 

As  stars  alone  to-night  will  shine ; 
No  moon  is  destined — pale — to  gaze 
On  such  a  day's  vast  phoenix  blaze, 
A  day  in  fires  decayed ! 

There — hand-in-hand  we  tread  again 

The  mazes  of  this  varying  wood, 
And  soon,  amid  a  cultured  plain, 

Girt  in  with  fertile  solitude, 
We  shall  our  resting-place  descry, 
Marked  by  one  roof-tree,  towering  high 
Above  a  farmstead  rude. 

Refreshed,  ere  long,  with  rustic  fare, 
We'll  seek  a  couch  of  dreamless  ease ; 

Courage  will  guard  thy  heart  from  fear, 
And  Love  give  mine  divinest  peace : 

To-morrow  brings  more  dangerous  toil, 

And  through  its  conflict  and  turmoil 
We'll  pass,  as  God  shall  please. 

[The  preceding  composition  refers,  doubtless,  to  the  scenes  acted  in  France 
during  the  last  year  of  the  Consulate.] 


FRANCES.  281 


FRANCES. 

SHE  will  not  sleep,  for  fear  of  dreams, 

But,  rising,  quits  her  restless  bed, 
And  walks  where  some  beclouded  beams 

Of  moonlight  through  the  hall  are  shed. 

Obedient  to  the  goad  of  grief, 

Her  steps,  now  fast,  now  lingering  slow, 

In  varying  motion  seek  relief 
From  the  Eumenides  of  woe. 

Wringing  her  hands,  at  intervals — 

But  long  as  mute  as  phantom  dim — 
She  glides  along  the  dusky  walls, 

Under  the  black  oak  rafters  grim. 

The  close  air  of  the  grated  tower 

Stifles  a  heart  that  scarce  can  beat, 
And,  though  so  late  and  lone  the  hour, 

Forth  pass  her  wandering,  faltering  feet ; 

And  on  the  pavement  spread  before 

The  long  front  of  the  mansion  gray, 
Her  steps  imprint  the  night-frost  hoar, 

Which  pale  on  grass  and  granite  lay. 

Not  long  she  stayed  where  misty  moon 
And  shimmering  stars  could  on  her  look, 

But  through  the  garden  archway  soon 
Her  strange  and  gloomy  path  she  took. 

Some  firs  coeval  with  the  tower, 

Their  straight  black  boughs  stretched  o'er  her  head ; 
Unseen,  beneath  this  sable  bower, 

Rustled  her  dress  and  rapid  tread. 

There  was  an  alcove  in  that  shade, 

Screening  a  rustic  seat  and  stand ; 
Weary  she  sat  her  down,  and  laid 

Her  hot  brow  on  her  burning  hand. 


282  POEMS. 

To  solitude  and  to  the  night 

Some  words  she  now,  in  murmurs,  said  ; 
And  trickling  through  her  finger  white, 

Some  tears  of  misery  she  shed. 

"  God  help  me  in  my  grievous  need, 
God  help  me  in  my  inward  pain ; 

Which  cannot  ask  for  pity's  meed, 
Which  has  no  license  to  complain ; 

"  Which  must  be  borne ;  yet  who  can  bear, 
Hours  long,  days  long,  a  constant  weight- 

The  yoke  of  absolute  despair, 
A  suffering  wholly  desolate  ? 

"  Who  can  for  ever  crush  the  heart, 
Restrain  its  throbbing,  curb  its  life? 

Dissemble  truth  with  ceaseless  art, 

With  outward  calm  mask  inward  strife  ?" 

She  waited — as  for  some  reply  ; 

The  still  and  cloudy  night  gave  none ; 
Ere  long,  with  deep-drawn,  trembling  sigh, 

Her  heavy  plaint  again  begun. 

"  Unloved — I  love  ;  unwept — I  weep ; 

Grief  I  restrain — hope  I  repress  : 
Vain  is  this  anguish — fixed  and  deep; 

Vainer,  desires  and  dreams  of  bliss : 

"  My  love  awakes  no  love  again, 
My  tears  collect,  and  fall  unfelt ; 

My  sorrow  touches  none  with  pain, 
My  humble  hopes  to  nothing  melt. 

"  For  me  the  universe  is  dumb, 

Stone-deaf,  and  blank,  and  wholly  blind ; 

Life  I  must  bound,  existence  sum 
In  the  strait  limits  of  one  mind  ; 

"  That  mind  my  own.     Oh !  narrow  cell ; 

Dark — imageless — a  living  tomb  ! 
There  must  I  sleep,  there  wake  and  dwell 

Content,  with  palsy,  pain,  and  gloom." 


FRANCES.  283 

Again  she  paused  ;  a  moan  of  pain, 

A  stifled  sob,  alone  was  heard  ; 
Long  silence  followed — then  again 

Her  voice  the  stagnant  midnight  stirred : 

"  Must  it  be  so  ?     Is  this  my  fate  ? 

Can  I  nor  struggle,  nor  contend  ? 
And  am  I  doomed  for  years  to  wait, 

Watching  death's  lingering  axe  descend  ? 

"  And  when  it  falls,  and  when  I  die, 

What  follows  ?     Vacant  nothingness  ? 
The  blank  of  lost  identity  ? 

Erasure  both  of  pain  and  bliss  ? 

"  I've  heard  of  heaven — I  would  believe ; 

For  if  this  earth  indeed  be  all, 
Who  longest  lives  may  deepest  grieve ; 

Most  blest  whom  sorrows  soonest  call. 

"  Oh !  leaving  disappointment  here, 

Will  man  find  hope  on  yonder  coast? 
Hope  which,  on  earth,  shines  never  clear, 

And  oft  in  clouds  is  wholly  lost. 

"  Will  he  hope's  source  of  light  behold, 
Fruition's  spring,  where  doubts  expire, 

And  drink,  in  waves  of  living  gold, 
Contentment,  full,  for  long  desire  ? 

"  Will  he  find  bliss,  which  here  he  dreamed  ? 

Rest,  which  was  weariness  on  earth  ? 
Knowledge,  which,  if  o'er  life  it  beamed, 

Served  but  to  prove  it  void  of  worth  ? 

"  Will  he  find  love  without  lust's  leaven, 

Love  fearless,  tearless,  perfect,  pure, 
To  all  with  equal  bounty  given  ; 

In  all,  unfeigned,  unfailing,  sure  ? 

"  Will  he,  from  penal  sufferings  free, 
Released  from  shroud  and  wormy  clod, 

All  calm  and  glorious,  rise  and  see 
Creation's  Sire — Existence'  God  ? 


284  POEMS. 

"  Then,  glancing  back  on  Time's  brief  woes, 
Will  he  behold  them,  fading,  fly ; 

Swept  from  Eternity's  repose, 

Like  sullying  cloud  from  pure  blue  sky? 

"  If  so,  endure,  my  weary  frame ; 

And  when  thy  anguish  strikes  too  deep, 
And  when  all  troubled  burns  life's  flame, 

Think  of  the  quiet,  final  sleep ; 

"  Think  of  the  glorious  waking-iour, 
Which  will  not  dawn  on  grief  and  tears, 

But  on  a  ransomed  spirit's  power, 
Certain  and  free  from  mortal  fears. 

"  Seek  now  thy  couch,  and  lie  till  morn, 
Then  from  thy  chamber,  calm,  descend, 

With  mind  nor  tossed,  nor  anguish  torn, 
But  tranquil,  fixed,  to  wait  the  end. 

"  And  when  thy  opening  eyes  shall  see 
Mementos  on  the  chamber  wall, 

Of  one  who  has  forgotten  thee, 
Shed  not  the  tear  of  acrid  gall. 

"  The  tear  which,  welling  from  the  heart, 
Burns  where  its  drop  corrosive  falls, 

And  makes  each  nerve  in  torture  start, 
At  feelings  it  too  well  recalls : 

"  When  the  sweet  hope  of  being  loved 
Threw  Eden  sunshine  on  life's  way ; 

When  every  sense  and  feeling  proved 
Expectancy  of  brightest  day: 

"  When  the  hand  trembled  to  receive 
A  thrilling  clasp,  which  seemed  so  near, 

And  the  heart  ventured  to  believe 
Another  heart  esteemed  it  dear : 

"  When  words,  half  love,  all  tenderness, 
Were  hourly  heard,  as  hourly  spoken, 

When  the  long  sunny  days  of  bliss 

Only  by  moonlight  nights  were  broken : 


FRANCES.  285 

"Till,  drop  by  drop,  the  cup  of  joy, 

Filled  full,  with  purple  light  was  glowing, 

And  Faith,  which  watched  it  sparkling  high, 
Still  never  dreamt  the  overflowing. 

"  It  fell  not  with  a  sudden  crashing, 

It  poured  not  out  like  open  sluice ; 
No,  sparkling  still,  and  redly  flashing, 

Drained,  drop  by  drop,  the  generous  juice. 

"  I  saw  it  sink,  and  strove  to  taste  it — 

My  eager  lips  approached  the  brim ; 
The  movement  only  seemed  to  waste  it — 

It  sank  to  dregs,  all  harsh  and  dim. 

"  These  I  have  drunk,  and  they  for  ever 

Have  poisoned  life  and  love  for  me ; 
A  draught  from  Sodom's  lake  could  never 

More  fiery,  salt,  and  bitter  be. 

"  Oh !  love  was  all  a  thin  illusion ; 

Joy  but  the  desert's  flying  stream ; 
And  glancing  back  on  long  delusion, 

My  memory  grasps  a  hollow  dream. 

"  Yet  whence  that  wondrous  change  of  feeling, 

I  never  knew,  and  cannot  learn  ; 
Nor  why  my  lover's  eye,  congealing, 

Grew  cold  and  clouded,  proud  and  stern. 

"  Nor  wherefore,  friendship's  forms  forgetting, 

He  careless  left  and  cool  withdrew, 
Nor  spoke  of  grief  nor  fond  regretting, 

Nor  ev'n  one  glance  of  comfort  threw. 

"  And  neither  word  nor  token  sending, 

Of  kindness,  since  the  parting  day, 
His  course,  for  distant  regions  bending, 

Went,  self-contained  and  calm,  away. 

"  O  bitter,  blighting,  keen  sensation, 

Which  will  not  weaken,  cannot  die, 
Hasten  thy  work  of  desolation. 

And  let  my  tortured  spirit  fly  ! 


286  POEMS. 

"  Vain  as  the  passing  gale,  my  crying ; 

Though  lightning-struck,  I  must  live  on ; 
I  know  at  heart  there  is  no  dying 

Of  love,  and  ruined  hope,  alone. 

"  Still  strong  and  young,  and  -warm  with  vigor, 
Though  scathed,  I  long  shall  greenly  grow ; 

And  many  a  storm  of  wildest  rigor 

Shall  yet  break  o'er  my  shivered  bough. 

"  Rebellious  now  to  'blank  inertion, 
My  unused  strength  demands  a  task ; 

Travel,  and  toil,  and  full  exertion 
Are  the  last,  only  boon  I  ask. 

"  Whence,  then,  this  vain  and  barren  dreaming 
Of  death,  and  dubious  life  to  come  ?       » 

I  see  a  nearer  beacon  gleaming 
Over  dejection's  sea  of  gloom. 

"  The  very  wildness  of  my  sorrow 
Tells  me  I  yet  have  innate  force; 

My  track  of  life  has  been  too  narrow, 
Effort  shall  trace  a  broader  course. 

"  The  world  is  not  in  yonder  tower, 
Earth  is  not  prisoned  in  that  room, 

Mid  whose  dark  panels,  hour  by  hour, 
I've  sat,  the  slave  and  prey  of  gloom.  .    ' 

"  One  feeling  turned  to  utter  anguish 

Is  not  my  being's  only  aim ; 
When,  lorn  and  loveless,  life  will  languish, 

But  courage  can  revive  the  flame. 

"  He,  when  he  left  me,  went  a-roving 
To  sunny  climes  beyond  the  sea ; 

And  I,  the  weight  of  woe  removing, 
Am  free  and  fetterless  as  he. 

"  New  scenes,  new  language,  skies  less  clouded, 
May  once  more  wake  the  wish  to  live ; 

Strange,  foreign  towns,  astir  and  crowded, 
New  pictures  to  the  mind  may  give. 


GILBERT.  287 

"  New  forms  and  faces,  passing  ever, 

May  hide  the  one  I  still  retain, 
Defined  and  fixed,  and  fading  never, 

Stamped  deep  on  vision,  heart,  and  brain. 

"  And  we  might  meet — time  may  have  changed  him ; 

Chance  may  reveal  the  mystery, 
The  secret  influence  which  estranged  him ; 

Love  may  restore  him  yet  to  me. 

"  False  thought — false  hope — in  scorn  be  banished ! 

I  am  not  loved — nor  loved  have  been  ; 
Recall  not,  then,  the  dreams  scarce  vanished ; 

Traitors !  mislead  me  not  again ! 

"  To  words  like  yours  I  bid  defiance, 
'Tis  such  my  mental  wreck  have  made ; 

Of  God  alone,  and  self-reliance, 
I  ask  for  solace — hope  for  aid. 

"  Morn  comes — and  ere  meridian  glory 
O'er  these  my  natal  woods  shall  smile, 

Both  lonely  wood  and  mansion  hoary 
I'll  leave  behind,  full  many  a  mile." 


GILBERT. 

I. THE    GARDEN. 

ABOVE  the  city  hung  the  moon, 

Right  o'er  a  plot  of  ground 
Where  flowers  and  orchard-trees  were  fenced 

"With  lofty  walls  around : 
'Twas  Gilbert's  garden— there  to-night 

Awhile  he  walked  alone ; 
And,  tired  with  sedentary  toil, 

Mused  where  the  moonlight  shone. 


288  POEMS. 

This  garden,  in  a  city  heart, 

Lay  still  as  houseless  wild, 
Though  many-windowed  mansion  fronts 

Were  round  it  closely  piled ; 
But  thick  their  walls,  and  those  within 

Lived  lives  by  noise  unstirred ; 
Like  wafting  of  an  angel's  wing, 

Time's  flight  by  them  was  heard. 

Some  soft  piano-notes  alone 

Were  sweet  as  faintly  given, 
Where  ladies,  doubtless,  cheered  the  hearth 

With  song  that  winter-even. 
The  city's  many-mingled  sounds 

Rose  like  the  hum  of  ocean ; 
They  rather  lulled  the  heart  than  roused 

Its  pulse  to  faster  motion. 

Gilbert  has  paced  the  single  walk 

An  hour,  yet  is  not  weary ; 
And,  though  it  be  a  winter  night, 

He  feels  nor  cold  nor  dreary. 
The  prime  of  life  is  in  his  veins, 

And  sends  his  blood  fast  flowing, 
And  Fancy's  fervor  warms  the  thoughts 

Now  in  his  bosom  glowing. 

Those  thoughts  recur  to  early  love, 

Or  what  he  love  would  name, 
Though  haply  Gilbert's  secret  deeds 

Might  other  title  claim. 
Such  theme  not  oft  his  mind  absorbs, 

He  to  the  world  clings  fast, 
And  too  much  for  the  present  lives, 

To  linger  o'er  the  past. 

But  now  the  evening's  deep  repose 

Has  glided  to  his  soul  ; 
That  moonlight  falls  on  Memory, 

And  shows  her  fading  scroll. 


GILBERT.  289 


One  name  appears  in  every  line 

The  gentle  rays  shine  o'er, 
And  still  he  smiles  and  still  repeats 

That  one  name — Elinor. 

There  is  no  sorrow  in  his  smile, 

No  kindness  in  his  tone ; 
The  triumph  of  a  selfish  heart 

Speaks  coldly  there  alone. 
He  says :  "  She  loved  me  more  than  life ; 

And  truly  it  was  sweet 
To  see  so  fair  a  woman  kneel 

In  bondage  at  my  feet. 

"  There  was  a  sort  of  quiet  bliss 

To  be  so  deeply  loved, 
To  gaze  on  trembling  eagerness 

And  sit  myself  unmoved ; 
And  when  it  pleased  my  pride  to  grant 

At  last  some  rare  caress, 
To  feel  the  fever  of  that  hand 

My  fingers  deigned  to  press. 

"  'Twas  sweet  to  see  her  strive  to  hide 

What  every  glance  revealed  ; 
Endowed,  the  while,  with  despot-might 

Her  destiny  to  wield. 
I  knew  myself  no  perfect  man, 

Nor,  as  she  deemed,  divine ; 
I  knew  that  I  was  glorious — but 

By  her  reflected  shine ; 

"  Her  youth,  her  native  energy, 

Her  powers  new-born  and  fresh — 
'Twas  these  with  godhood  sanctified 

My  sensual  frame  of  flesh. 
Yet,  like  a  god  did  I  descend 

At  last  to  meet  her  love  ; 
And  like  a  god  I  then  withdrew 

To  my  own  heaven  above. 
19 


290  POEMS. 

"  And  never  more  could  she  invoke 

My  presence  to  her  sphere ; 
No  prayer,  no  plaint,  no  cry  of  hers 

Could  win  my  awful  ear. 
I  knew  her  blinded  constancy 

Would  ne'er  my  deeds  betray, 
And,  calm  in  conscience,  whole  in  heart, 

I  went  my  tranquil  way. 

"  Yet,  sometimes,  I  still  feel  a  wish, 

The  fond  and  flattering  pain 
Of  passion's  anguish  to  create 

In  her  young  breast  again. 
Bright  was  the  lustre  of  her  eyes 

When  they  caught  fire  from  mine  ; 
If  I  had  power — this  very  hour, 

Again  I'd  light  their  shine. 

"  But  where  she  is,  or  how  she  lives, 

I  have  no  clue  to  know ; 
I've  heard  she  long  my  absence  pined, 

And  left  her  home  in  woe. 
But  busied,  then,  in  gathering  gold, 

As  I  am  busied  now, 
I  could  not  turn  from  such  pursuit 

To  weep  a  broken  vow. 

"  Nor  could  I  give  to  fatal  risk 

The  fame  I  ever  prized ; 
Even  now,  I  fear,  that  precious  fame 

Is  too  much  compromised." 
An  inward  trouble  dims  his  eye, 

Some  riddle  he  would  solve; 
Some  method  to  unloose  a  knot 

His  anxious  thoughts  revolve. 

He,  pensive,  leans  against  a  tree, 

A  leafy  evergreen — 
The  boughs  the  moonlight  intercept, 
hide  him  like  a  screen ; 


GILBERT.  291 

He  starts — the  tree  shakes  with  his  tremor, 

Yet  nothing  near  him  pass'd ; 
He  hurries  up  the  garden  alley 

In  strangely  sudden  haste. 

With  shaking  hands  he  lifts  the  latchet, 

Steps  o'er  the  threshold  stone ; 
The  heavy  door  slips  from  his  fingers — 

It  shuts,  and  he  is  gone. 
What  touched,  transfixed,  appalled  his  soul  ? — 

A  nervous  thought,  no  more  ; 
'Twill  sink  like  stone  in  placid  pool, 

And  calm  close  smoothly  o'er. 

II. — THE   PAKLOR. 

Warm  is  the  parlor  atmosphere, 

Serene  the  lamp's  soft  light ; 
The  vivid  embers,  red  and  clear, 

Proclaim  a  frosty  night. 
Books,  varied,  on  the  table  lie, 

Three  children  o'er  them  bend,     • 
And  all  with  curious,  eager  eye, 

The  turning  leaf  attend. 

Picture  and  tale  alternately 

Their  simple  hearts  delight, 
And  interest  deep,  and  tempered  glee, 

Illume  their  aspects  bright. 
The  parents,  from  their  fireside  place, 

Behold  that  pleasant  scene, 
And  joy  is  on  the  mother's  face, 

Pride  in  the  father's  mien. 

As  Gilbert  sees  his  blooming  wife, 

Beholds  his  children  fair, 
No  thought  has  he  of  transient  strife, 

Or  past  though  piercing  fear. 
The  voice  of  happy  infancy 

Lisps  sweetly  in  his  ear, 
His  wife,  with  pleased  and  peaceful  eye, 

Sits,  kindly  smiling,  near. 


292  POEMS. 

The  fire  glows  on  her  silken  dress, 

And  shows  its  ample  grace, 
And  warmly  tints  each  hazel  tress, 

Curled  soft  around  her  face. 
The  beauty  that  in  youth  he  wooed 

Is  beauty  still,  unfaded ; 
The  brow  of  ever  placid  mood 

No  churlish  grief  has  shaded. 

Prosperity,  in  Gilbert's  home, 

Abides  the  guest  of  years ; 
There  want  or  discord  never  come, 

And  seldom  toil  or  tears. 
The  carpets  bear  the  peaceful  print 

Of  comfort's  velvet  tread, 
And  golden  gleams,  from  plenty  sent, 

In  every  nook  are  shed. 

The  very  silken  spaniel  seems 

Of  quiet  ease  to  tell, 
As  near  its  mistress'  feet  it  dreams, 

Sunk  in  a  cushion's  swell ; 
And  smiles  seem  native  to  the  eyes 

Of  those  sweet  children  three ; 
They  have  but  looked  on  tranquil  skiee, 

And  know  not  misery. 

Alas !  that  Misery  should  come 

In  such  an  hour  as  this ; 
Why  could  she  not  so  calm  a  home 

A  little  longer  miss  ? 
But  she  is  now  within  the  door, 

Her  steps  advancing  glide  ; 
Her  sullen  shade  has  crossed  the  floor, 

She  stands  at  Gilbert's  side. 

She  lays  her  hand  upon  his  heart, 

It  bounds  with  agony ; 
His  fireside  chair  shakes  with  a  start 

That  shook  the  garden  tree. 


GILBERT.  293 

His  wife  towards  the  children  looks, 

She  does  not  mark  his  mien ; 
The  children,  bending  o'er  their  books, 

His  terror  have  not  seen. 

In  his  own  home,  by  his  own  hearth, 

He  sits  in  solitude, 
And  circled  round  with  light  and  mirth, 

Cold  horror  chills  his  blood. 
His  mind  would  hold  with  desperate  clutch 

The  scene  that  round  him  lies ; 
No — changed,  as  by  some  wizard's  touch, 

The  present  prospect  flies. 

A  tumult  vague — a  viewless  strife 

His  futile  struggles  crush ; 
'Twixt  him  and  his  an  unknown  life 

And  unknown  feelings  rush. 
He  sees — but  scarce  can  language  paint 

The  tissue  fancy  weaves ; 
For  words  oft  give  but  echo  faint 

Of  thoughts  the  mind  conceives. 

Noise,  tumult  strange,  and  darkness  dim, 

Efface  both  light  and  quiet ; 
No  shape  is  in  those  shadows  grim, 

No  voice  in  that  wild  riot. 
Sustaiu'd  and  strong,  a  wondrous  blast 

Above  and  round  him  blows; 
A  greenish  gloom,  dense,  overcast, 

Each  moment  denser  grows. 

He  nothing  knows  — nor  clearly  sees, 

Resistance  checks  his  breath, 
The  high,  impetuous,  ceaseless  breeze 

Blows'  on  him  cold  as  death. 
And  still  the  undulating  gloom 

Mocks  sight  with  formless  motion: 
Was  such  sensation  Jonah's  doom, 

Gulphed  in  the  depths  of  ocean? 


294  POEMS. 

Streaking  the  air,  the  nameless  vision, 

Fast-driven,  deep-sounding,  flows; 
Oh !  whence  its  source,  and  what  its  mission  ? 

How  will  its  terrors  close  ? 
Long-sweeping,  rushing,  vast  and  void, 

The  universe  it  swallows ; 
And  still  the  dark,  devouring  tide 

A  typhoon  tempest  follows. 

More  slow  it  rolls ;  its  furious  race 

Sinks  to  its  solemn  gliding ; 
The  stunning  roar,  the  wind's  wild  chase, 

To  stillness  are  subsiding; 
And,  slowly  borne  along,  a  form 

The  shapeless  chaos  varies ; 
Poised  in  the  eddy  to  the  storm, 

Before  the  eye  it  tarries : 

A  woman  drowned — -sunk  in  the  deep, 

On  a  long  wave  reclining ; 
The  circling  waters'  crystal  sweep, 

Like  glass,  her  shape  enshrining. 
Her  pale  dead  face,  to  Gilbert  turned, 

Seems  as  in  sleep  reposing ; 
A  feeble  light,  now  first  discerned, 

The  features  well  disclosing. 

No  effort  from  the  haunted  air 

The  ghastly  scene  could  banish ; 
That  hovering  wave,  arrested  there, 

Rolled — throbbed — but  did  not  vanish. 
If  Gilbert  upward  turned  his  gaze, 

He  saw  the  ocean-shadow ; 
If  he  looked  down,  the  endless  seas 

Lay  green  as  summer  meadow. 

And  straight  before,  the  pale  corpse  lay, 

Upborne  by  air  or  billow, 
So  near,  he  could  have  touched  the  spray 

That  churned  around  its  pillow. 


GILBERT.  295 

The  hollow  anguish  of  the  face 

Had  moved  a  fiend  to  sorrow; 
Not  death's  fixed  calm  could  rase  the  trace 

Of  suffering's  deep-worn  furrow. 

All  moved ;  a  strong  returning  blast, 

The  mass  of  waters  raising, 
Bore  wave  and  passive  carcase  past, 

While  Gilbert  yet  was  gazing. 
Deep  in  her  isle-conceiving  womb 

It  seemed  the  ocean  thundered, 
And  soon,  by  realms  of  rushing  gloom, 

Were  seer  and  phantom  sundered. 

Then  swept  some  timbers  from  a  wreck, 

On  following  surges  riding ; 
Then  seaweed,  in  the  turbid  rack 

Uptorn,  went  slowly  gliding. 
The  horrid  shade,  by  slow  degrees, 

A  beam  of  light  defeated, 
And  then  the  roar  of  raving  seas, 

Fast,  far,  and  faint,  retreated. 

And  all  was  gone — gone  like  a  mist, 

Corse,  billows,  tempest,  wreck; 
Three  children  close  to  Gilbert  prest 

And  clung  around  his  neck. 
"  Good  night !  good  night !"  the  prattlers  said, 

And  kissed  their  father's  cheek ; 
'Twas  now  the  hour  their  quiet  bed 

And  placid  rest  to  seek. 

The  mother  with  her  offspring  goes 

To  hear  their  evening  prayer ; 
She  nought  of  Gilbert's  vision  knows, 

And  nought  of  his  despair. 
Yet,  pitying  God,  abridge  the  time 

Of  anguish,  now  his  fate ! 
Though,  haply,  great  has  been  his  crime, 

Thy  mercy,  too,  is  great. 


296  POEMS. 

Gilbert,  at  length,  uplifts  his  head, 

Bent  for  some  moments  low, 
And  there  is  neither  grief  nor  dread 

Upon  his  subtle  brow. 
For  well  can  he  his  feelings  task, 

And  well  his  looks  command ; 
His  features  well  his  heart  can  mask, 

With  smiles  and  smoothness  bland. 

Gibert  has  reasoned  with  his  mind — 

He  says  'twas  all  a  dream ; 
He  strives  his  inward  sight  to  blind 

Against  truth's  inward  beam. 
He  pitied  not  that  shadowy  thing, 

When  it  was  flesh  and  blood ; 
Nor  now  can  pity's  balmy  spring 

Refresh  his  arid  mood. 

"  And  if  that  dream  has  spoken  truth," 

Thus  musingly  he  says ; 
"  If  Elinor  be  dead,  in  sooth, 

Such  chance  the  shock  repays : 
A  net  was  woven  round  my  feet, 

I  scarce  could  further  go; 
Ere  shame  had  forced  a  fast  retreat, 

Dishonor  brought  me  low. 

"  Conceal  her,  then,  deep,  silent  sea, 

Give  her  a  secret  grave ! 
She  sleeps  in  peace,  and  I  am  free, 

No  longer  terror's  slave : 
And  homage  still,  from  all  the  world, 

Shall  greet  my  spotless  name, 
Since  surges  break  and  waves  are  curled 

Above  its  threatened  shame." 

III. — THE  WELCOME  HOME. 

Above  the  city  hangs  the  moon, 
Some  clouds  are  boding  rain ; 

Gilbert,  erewhile  on  journey  gone, 
To-night  comes  home  again. 


GILBERT.  297 

Ten  years  have  passed  above  his  head, 

Each  year  has  brought  him  gain ; 
His  prosperous  life  has  smoothly  sped, 

"Without  or  tear  or  stain. 

'Tis  somewhat  late — the  city  clocks 

Twelve  deep  vibrations  toll, 
As  Gilbert  at  the  portal  knocks, 

Which  is  his  journey's  goal. 
The  street  is  still  and  desolate, 

The  moon  hid  by  a  cloud ; 
Gilbert,  impatient,  will  not  wait, — 

His  second  knock  peals  loud. 

The  clocks  are  hushed — there's  not  a  light 

In  any  window  nigh, 
And  not  a  single  planet  bright 

Looks  from  the  clouded  sky ; 
The  air  is  raw,  the  rain  descends, 

A  bitter  north-wind  blows ; 
His  cloak  the  traveller  scarce  defends — 

Will  not  the  door  unclose  ? 

He  knocks  the  third  time,  and  the  last ; 

His  summons  now  they  hear  : 
Within,  a  footstep,  hurrying  fast, 

Is  heard  approaching  near. 
The  bolt  is  drawn,  the  clanking  chain 

Falls  to  the  floor  of  stone ; 
And  Gilbert  to  his  heart  will  strain 

His  wife  and  children  soon. 

The  hand  that  lifts  the  latchet,  holds 

A  candle  to  his  sight, 
And  Gilbert,  on  the  step  beholds 

A  woman  clad  in  white. 
Lo !  water  from  her  dripping  dress 

Runs  on  the  streaming  floor ; 
From  every  dark  and  clinging  tress 

The  drops  incessant  pour. 


298  POEMS. 

There's  none  but  her  to  welcome  him ; 

She  holds  the  candle  high, 
And,  motionless  in  form  and  limb, 

Stands  cold  and  silent  nigh  ; 
There's  sand  and  seaweed  on  her  robe, 

Her  hollow  eyes  are  blind  : 
No  pulse  in  such  a  frame  can  throb, 

No  life  is  there  defined. 

Gilbert  turned  ashy-white,  but  still 

His  lips  vouchsafed  no  cry ; 
He  spurred  his  strength  and  master- will 

To  pass  the  figure  by, — 
But,  moving  slow,  it  faced  him  straight, 

It  would  not  flinch  nor  quail : 
Then  first  did  Gilbert's  strength  abate, 

His  stony  firmness  fail. 

He  sank  upon  his  knees  and  prayed ; 

The  shape  stood  rigid  there; 
He  called  aloud  for  human  aid, 

No  human  aid  was  near. 
An  accent  strange  did  thus  repeat 

Heaven's  stern  but  just  decree : 
"  The  measure  thou  to  her  didst  mete, 

To  thee  shall  measured  be !" 

Gilbert  sprang  from  his  bended  knees, 

By  the  pale  spectre  pushed, 
And,  wild  as  one  whom  demons  seize, 

Up  the  hall-staircase  rushed ; 
Entered  his  chamber — near  the  bed 

Sheathed  steel  and  firearms  hung — 
Impelled  by  maniac  purpose  dread 

He  chose  those  stores  among. 

Across  his  throat  a  keen-edged  knife 
With  vigorous  hand  he  drew ; 

The  wound  was  wide — his  outraged  life 
Bushed  rash  and  redly  through. 


LIFE.  299 


And  thus  died,  by  a  shameful  death, 
A  wise  and  worldly  man, 

Who  never  drew  but  selfish  breath, 
Since  first  his  life  began. 


LIFE. 

LIFE,  believe,  is  not  a  dream 

So  dark  as  sages  say ; 
Oft  a  little  morning  rain 

Foretells  a  pleasant  day. 
Sometimes  there  are  clouds  of  gloom, 

But  these  are  transient  all ; 
If  the  shower  will  make  the  roses  bloom, 

Oh,  why  lament  its  fall  ? 
Rapidly,  merrily, 

Life's  sunny  hours  flit  by, 
Gratefully,  cheerily, 

Enjoy  them  as  they  fly  ! 

What  though  Death  at  times  steps  in^ 

And  calls  our  best  away  ? 
What  though  sorrow  seems  to  win 

O'er  hope  a  heavy  sway  ? 
Yet  hope  again  elastic  springs, 

Unconquered,  though  she  fell ; 
Still  buoyant  are  her  golden  wings, 

Still  strong  to  bear  us  well. 
Manfully,  fearlessly, 

The  day  of  trial  bear, 

For  gloriously,  victoriously, 

Can  courage  quell  despair ! 


300  POEMS. 

THE  LETTER. 

WHAT  is  she  writing  ?    Watch  her  now : 

How  fast  her  fingers  move ! 
How  eagerly  her  youthful  brow 

Is  bent  in  thought  above ! 
Her  long  curls  drooping,  shade  the  light, 

She  puts  them  quick  aside, 
Nor  knows  that  band  of  crystals  bright 

Her  hasty  touch  untied. 
It  slips  adown  her  silken  dress, 

Falls  glittering  at  her  feet ; 
Unmarked  it  falls,  for  she  no  less 

Pursues  her  labor  sweet. 

The  very  loveliest  hour  that  shines 

Is  in  that  deep  blue  sky ; 
The  golden  sun  of  June  declines, 

It  has  not  caught  her  eye. 
The  cheerful  lawn,  and  unclosed  gate, 

The  white  road,  far  away, 
In  vain  for  her  light  footsteps  wait, 

She  comes  not  forth  to-day. 
There  is  an  open  door  of  glass 

Close  by  that  lady's  chair, 
Fromrthence,  to  slopes  of  mossy  grass, 

Descends  a  marble  stair. 

Tall  plants  of  bright  and  spicy  bloom 

Around  the  threshold  grow ; 
Their  leaves  and  blossoms  shade  the  room 

From  that  sun's  deepening  glow. 
Why  does  she  not  a  moment  glance 

Between  the  clustering  flowers, 
And  mark  in  heaven  the  radiant  dance 

Of  evening's  rosy  hours  ? 
Oh,  look  again !     Still  fixed  her  eye, 

Unsmiling,  earnest,  still, 
And  fast  her  pen  and  fingers  fly, 

Urged  by  her  eager  will. 


THE  LETTER.  301 

Her  soul  is  in  th'  absorbing  task ; 

To  whom,  then,  doth  she  write  ? 
Nay,  watch  her  still  more  closely,  ask 

Her  own  eyes'  serious  light ; 
Where  do  they  turn,  as  now  her  pen 

Hangs  o'er  th'  unfinished  line  ? 
Whence  fell  the  tearful  gleam  that  then 

Did  in  their  dark  spheres  shine  ? 
The  summer-parlor  looks  so  dark, 

When  from  that  sky  you  turn, 
And  from  th'  expanse  of  that  green  park 

You  scarce  may  aught  discern. 

Yet  o'er  the  piles  of  porcelain  rare, 

O'er  flower-stand,  couch  and  vase, 
Sloped,  as  if  leaning  on  the  air, 

One  picture  meets  the  gaze. 
'Tis  there  she  turns ;  you  may  not  see 

Distinct  what  form  defines 
The  clouded  mass  of  mystery 

Yon  broad  gold  frame  confines. 
But  look  again ;  inured  to  shade 

Your  eyes  now  faintly  trace 
A  stalwart  form,  a  massive  head, 

A  firm,  determined  face. 

Black  Spanish  locks,  a  sunburnt  cheek, 

A  brow  high,  broad,  and  white, 
Where  every  furrow  seems  to  speak 

Of  mind  and  moral  might. 
Is  that  her  god  ?    I  cannot  tell ; 

Her  eye  a  moment  met 
Th'  impending  picture,  then  it  fell 

Darkened  and  dimmed  and  wet. 
A  moment  more,  her  task  is  done, 

And  sealed  the  letter  lies ; 
And  now,  towards  the  setting  sun 

She  turns  her  tearful  eyes. 


302  POEMS. 

Those  tears  flow  over,  wonder  not, 

For  by  the  inscription  see 
In  what  a  strange  and  distant  spot 

Her  heart  of  hearts  must  be ! 
Three  seas  and  many  a  league  of  land 

That  letter  must  pass  o'er, 
Ere  read  by  him  to  whose  loved  hand 

'Tis  sent  from  England's  shore. 
Remote  colonial  wilds  detain 

Her  husband,  loved  though  stern ; 
She,  mid  that  smiling  English  scene, 

Weeps  for  his  wished  return. 


REGRET. 

LONG  ago  I  wished  to  leave 

"  The  house  where  I  was  born ;" 
Long  ago  I  used  to  grieve, 

My  home  seemed  so  forlorn. 
In  other  years,  its  silent  rooms 

Were  filled  with  haunting  fears ; 
Now,  their  very  memory  comes 

O'ercharged  with  tender  tears. 

Life  and  marriage  I  have  known, 

Things  once  deemed  so  bright ; 
Now,  how  utterly  is  flown 

Every  ray  of  light ! 
Mid  the  unknown  sea  of  life 

I  no  blest  isle  have  found  ; 
At  last,  through  all  its  wild  waves'  strife, 

My  bark  is  homeward  bound. 

Farewell,  dark  and  rolling  deep ! 

Farewell,  foreign  shore ! 
Open,  in  unclouded  sweep, 

Thou  glorious  realm  before ! 


PRESENTIMENT.  303 

Yet,  though  I  had  safely  pass'd 

That  weary,  vexed  main, 
One  loved  voice,  through  surge  and  blast, 

Could  call  me  back  again. 

Though  the  soul's  bright  morning  rose 

O'er  Paradise  for  me, 
William !  even  from  heaven's  repose 

I'd  turn,  invoked  by  thee! 
Storm  nor  surge  should  e'er  arrest 

My  soul,  exulting  then : 
All  my  heaven  was  once  thy  breast, 

Would  it  were  mine  again ! 


PKESENTIMENT. 

"  SISTER,  you've  sat  there  all  the  day, 

Come  to  the  hearth  a  while ; 
The  wind  so  wildly  sweeps  away, 

The  clouds  so  darkly  pile. 
That  open  book  has  lain,  unread, 

For  hours  upon  your  knee ; 
You've  never  smiled,  nor  turned  your  head ; 

What  can  you,  sister,  see  ?" 

"  Come  hither,  Jane,  look  down  the  field ; 

How  dense  a  mist  creeps  on  1 
The  path,  the  hedge,  are  both  concealed, 

Ev'n  the  white  gate  is  gone ; 
No -landscape  through  the  fog  I  trace, 

No  hill  with  pastures  green ; 
All  featureless  is  Nature's  face, 

All  masked  in  clouds  her  mien. 

"  Scarce  is  the  rustle  of  a  leaf 

Heard  in  our  garden  now ; 
The  year  grows  old,  its  days  wax  brief, 

The  tresses  leave  its  brow. 


304  POEMS. 

The  rain  drives  fast  before  the  wind, 

The  sky  is  blank  and  gray ; 
O  Jane,  what  sadness  fills  the  mind 

On  such  a  dreary  day !" 

"  You  think  too  much,  my  sister  dear ; 

You  sit  too  long  alone ; 
What  though  November  days  be  drear  ? 

Full  soon  will  they  be  gone. 
I've  swept  the  hearth,  and  placed  your  chair, 

Come,  Emma,  sit  by  me ; 
Our  own  fireside  is  never  drear, 
Though  late  and  wintry  wane  the  year, 

Though  rough  the  night  may  be." 

"  The  peaceful  glow  of  our  fireside 

Imparts  no  peace  to  me : 
My  thoughts  would  rather  wander  wide 

Than  rest,  dear  Jane,  with  thee. 
I'm  on  a  distant  journey  bound, 

And  if,  about  my  heart, 
Too  closely  kindred  ties  were  bound, 

'Twould  break  when  forced  to  part. 

" '  Soon  will  November  days  be  o'er :' 

Well  have  you  spoken,  Jane : 
My  own  forebodings  tell  me  more — 
For  me,  I  knew  by  presage  sure, 

They'll  ne'er  return  again : 
Ere  long,  nor  sun  nor  storm  to  me 

Will  bring  or  joy  or  gloom ; 
They  reach  not  that  eternity 

Which  soon  will  be  my  home." 

Eight  months  are  gone,  the  summer  sun 

Sets  in  a  glorious  sky ; 
A  quiet  field,  all  green  and  lone, 

Receives  its  rosy  dye. 


THE  TEACHERS  MONOLOGUE.  305 

Jane  sits  upon  a  shaded  stile, 

Alone  she  sits  there  now ; 
Her  head  rests  on  her  hand  the  while, 

And  thought  o'ercasts  her  brow. 

She's  thinking  of  one  winter's  day, 

A  few  short  months  ago, 
When  Emma's  bier  was  borne  away 

O'er  wastes  of  frozen  snow. 
She's  thinking  how  that  drifted  snow 

Dissolved  in  spring's  first  gleam, 
And  how  her  sister's  memory  now 

Fades,  even  as  fades  a  dream. 

The  snow  will  whiten  earth  again, 

But  Emma  comes  no  more ; 
She  left,  mid  winter's  sleet  and  rain, 

This  world  for  heaven's  far  shore. 
On  Beulah's  hills  she  wanders  now, 

On  Eden's  tranquil  plain  ; 
To  her  shall  Jane  hereafter  go, 

She  ne'er  shall  come  to  Jane  I 


THE  TEACHER'S  MONOLOGUE. 

THE  room  is  quiet,  thoughts  alone 

People  its  mute  tranquillity ; 
The  yoke  put  off,  the  long  task  done, — 

I  am,  as  it  is  bliss  to  be, 
Still  and  untroubled.     Now,  I  see, 

For  the  first  time,  how  soft  the  day 
O'er  waveless  water,  stirless  tree, 

Silent  and  sunny,  wings  its  way. 
20 


306  POEMS. 

Now,  as  I  watch  that  distant  hill, 

So  faint,  so  blue,  so  far  removed, 
Sweet  dreams  of  home  my  heart  may  fill, 

That  home  where  I  am  known  and  loved: 
It  lies  beyond ;  yon  azure  brow 

Parts  me  from  all  earth  holds  for  me ; 
And,  morn  and  eve,  my  yearnings  flow 

Thitherward  tending,  changelessly. 
My  happiest  hours,  ay !  all  the  time, 

I  love  to  keep  in  memory, 
Lapsed  among  moors,  ere  life's  first  prime 

Decayed  to  dark  anxiety. 

Sometimes,  I  think  a  narrow  heart 

Makes  me  thus  mourn  those  far  away, 
And  keeps  my  love  so  far  apart 

From  friends  and  friendships  of  to-day ; 
Sometimes,  I  think  'tis  but  a  dream 

I  treasure  up  so  jealously, 
All  the  sweet  thoughts  I  live  on  seem 

To  vanish  into  vacancy  : 
And  then,  this  strange,  coarse  world  around 

Seems  all  that's  palpable  and  true ; 
And  every  sight  and  every  sound 

Combine  my  spirit  to  subdue 
To  aching  grief;  so  void  and  lone 

Is  life,  and  earth — so  worse  than  vain, 
The  hopes  that,  in  my  own  heart  sown, 

And  cherished  by  such  sun  and  rain 
As  joy  and  transient  sorrow  shed, 

Have  ripened  to  a  harvest  there : 
Alas !  methinks  I  hear  it  said, 

"  Thy  golden  sheaves  are  empty  air." 

All  fades  away ;  my  very  home 

I  think  will  soon  be  desolate  ; 
I  hear,  at  times,  a  warning  come 

Of  bitter  partings  at  its  gate ; 
And,  if  I  should  return  and  see 

The  hearth-fire  quenched,  the  vacant  chair ; 


THE  TEACHER'S  MONOLOGUE.  307 

And  hear  it  whispered  mournfully, 

That  farewells  have  been  spoken  there, 
"What  shall  I  do,  and  whither  turn  ? 
Where  look  for  peace  ?    When  cease  to  mourn  ? 


'Tis  not  the  air  I  wished  to  play, 

The  strain  I  wished  to  sing ; 
My  wilful  spirit  slipped  away 

And  struck  another  string. 
I  neither  wanted  smile  nor  tear, 

Bright  joy  nor  bitter  woe, 
But  just  a  song  that  sweet  and  clear, 

Though  haply  sad,  might  flow. 

A  quiet  song,  to  solace  me 

When  sleep  refused  to  come ; 
A  strain  to  chase  despondency 

When  sorrowful  for  home. 
In  vain  I  try ;  I  cannot  sing ; 

All  feels  so  cold  and  dead ; 
No  wild  distress,  no  gushing  spring 

Of  tears  in  anguish  shed; 

But  all  the  impatient  gloom  of  one 

Who  waits  a  distant  day, 
When,  some  great  task  of  suffering  done, 

Repose  shall  toil  repay. 
For  youth  departs,  and  pleasure  flies, 

And  life  consumes  away, 
And  youth's  rejoicing  ardor  dies 

Beneath  this  drear  delay; 

And  Patience,  weary  with  her  yoke, 

Is  yielding  to  despair, 
And  health's  elastic  spring  is  broke 

Beneath  the  strain  of  care. 
Life  will  be  gone  ere  I  have  lived ; 

Where  now  is  life's  first  prime  ? 
I've  worked  and  studied,  longed  and  grieved, 

Through  all  that  rosy  time. 


308  POEMS. 

To  toil,  to  think,  to  long,  to  grieve, — 

Is  such  my  future  fate? 
The  morn  was  dreary,  must  the  eve 

Be  also  desolate  ? 
Well,  such  a  life  at  least  makes  Death 

A  welcome,  wished-for  friend ; 
Then,  aid  me,  Reason,  Patience,  Faith, 

To  suffer  to  the  end ! 


PASSION. 

SOME  have  won  a  wild  delight 

By  daring  wilder  sorrow ; 
Could  I  gain  thy  love  to-night, 

I'd  hazard  death  to-morrow. 

Could  the  battle-struggle  earn 
One  kind  glance  from  thine  eye, 

How  this  withering  heart  would  burn, 
The  heady  fight  to  try ! 

Welcome  nights  of  broken  sleep, 
And  days  of  carnage  cold, 

Could  I  deem  that  thou  wouldst  weep 
To  hear  my  perils  told. 

Tell  me,  if  with  wandering  bands 

I  roam  full  far  away, 
Wilt  thou  to  those  distant  lands 

In  spirit  ever  stray  ? 

Wild,  long,  a  trumpet  sounds  afar ; 

Bid  me — bid  me  go 
Where  Seik  and  Briton  meet  in  war, 

On  Indian  Sutlej's  flow. 


PASSION.  309 

Blood  has  dyed  the  Sutlej's  waves 

With  scarlet  stain,  I  know ; 
Indus'  borders  yawn  with  graves, 

Yet,  command  me  go  1 

Though  rank  and  high  the  holocaust 

Of  nations  steams  to  heaven, 
Glad  I'd  join  the  death-doomed  host, 

Were  but  the  mandate  given. 

Passion's  strength  should  nerve  my  arm, 

Its  ardor  stir  my  life, 
Till  human  force  to  that  dread  charm 
Should  yield  and  sink  in  wild  alarm, 

Like  trees  to  tempest-strife. 

If,  hot  from  war,  I  seek  thy  love, 

Barest  thou  turn  aside  ? 
Darest  thou  then  my  fire  reprove, 

By  scorn,  and  maddening  pride? 

No — my  will  shall  yet  control 
Thy  will  so  high  and  free, 

And  love  shall  tame  that  haughty  soul- 
Yes — tenderest  love  for  me. 

I'll  read  my  triumph  in  thine  eyes, 

Behold,  and  prove  the  change ; 
Then  leave,  perchance,  my  noble  prize, 

Once  more  in  arms  to  range. 

I'd  die  when  all  the  foam  is  up, 

The  bright  wine  sparkling  high ; 
Nor  wait  till  in  the  exhausted  cup 

Life's  dull  dregs  only  lie. 

Then  love  thus  crowned  with  sweet  reward, 

Hope  blest  with  fullness  large, 
I'd  mount  the  saddle,  draw  the  sword 

And  perish  in  the  charge  I 


310  POEMS. 


PREFERENCE. 

NOT  in  scorn  do  I  reprove  thee, 

Not  in  pride  thy  vows  I  waive, 
But,  believe,  I  could  not  love  thee, 

Wert  thou  prince,  and  I  a  slave. 
These,  then,  are  thy  oaths  of  passion? 

This,  thy  tenderness  for  me  ? 
Judged,  even,  by  thine  own  confession, 

Thou  art  steeped  in  perfidy. 
Having  vanquished,  thou  wouldst  leave  me ! 

Thus  I  read  thee  long  ago ; 
Therefore,  dared  I  not  deceive  thee, 

Even  with  friendship's  gentle  show. 
Therefore,  with  impassive  coldness 

Have  I  ever  met  thy  gaze ; 
Though,  full  oft,  with  daring  boldness, 

Thou  thine  eyes  to  mine  didst  raise. 
Why  that  smile  ?    Thou  now  art  deeming 

This  my  coldness  all  untrue, — 
But  a  mask  of  frozen  seeming, 

Hiding  secret  fires  from  view. 
Touch  my  hand,  thou  self-deceiver ; 

Nay — be  calm,  for  I  am  so : 
Does  it  burn  ?    Does  my  lip  quiver  ? 

Has  mine  eye  a  troubled  glow  ? 
Canst  thou  call  a  moment's  color 

To  my  forehead — to  my  cheek  ? 
Canst  thou  tinge  their  tranquil  pallor 

With  one  flattering,  feverish  streak  ? 
Am  I  marble  ?     What !  no  woman 

Could  so  calm  before  thee  stand  ? 
Nothing  living,  sentient,  human, 

Could  so  coldly  take  thy  hand  ? 
Yes — a  sister  might,  a  mother : 

My  good  will  is  sisterly : 
Dream  not,  then,  I  strive  to  smother 

Fires  that  inly  burn  for  thee. 


PREFERENCE.  311 


Have  not,  rage  not,  wrath  is  fruitless, 

Fury  cannot  change  my  mind  ; 
I  but  deem  the  feeling  rootless 

Which  so  whirls  in  passion's  wind. 
Can  I  love  ?     Oh,  deeply — truly — 

Warmly — fondly — but  not  thee ; 
And  my  love  is  answered  duly, 

With  an  equal  energy. 
Wouldst  thou  see  thy  rival  ?     Hasten, 

Draw  that  curtain  soft  aside, 
Look  where  yon  thick  branches  chasten 

Noon,  with  shades  of  eventide. 
In  that  glade,  where  foliage  blending 

Forms  a  green  arch  overhead, 
Sits  thy  rival,  thoughtful  bending 

O'er  a  stand  with  papers  spread — 
Motionless,  his  fingers  plying 

That  untired,  unresting  pen ; 
Time  and  tide  unnoticed  flying, 

There  he  sits — the  first  of  men ! 
Man  of  conscience — man  of  reason ; 

Stern,  perchance,  but  ever  just ; 
Foe  to  falsehood,  wrong,  and  treason, 

Honor's  shield  and  virtue's  trust ! 
Worker,  thinker,  firm  defender 

Of  Heaven's  truth — man's  liberty ; 
Soul  of  iron — proof  to  slander, 

Rock  where  founders  tyranny. 
Fame  he  seeks  not — but  full  surely 

She  will  seek  him,  in  his  home; 
This  I  know,  and  wait  securely 

For  the  atoning  hour  to  come. 
To  that  man  my  faith  is  given, 

Therefore,  soldier,  cease  to  sue ; 
While  God  reigns  in  earth  and  heaven, 

I  to  him  will  still  be  true  1 


312  POEMS. 


EVENING  SOLACE. 

THE  human  heart  has  hidden  treasures, 

In  secret  kept,  in  silence  sealed ; — 
The  thoughts,  the  hopes,  the  dreams,  the  pleasures, 

Whose  charms  were  broken  if  revealed. 
And  days  may  pass  in  gay  confusion, 

And  nights  in  rosy  riot  fly, 
While  lost  in  Fame's  or  Wealth's  illusion, 

The  memory  of  the  Past  may  die. 

But  there  are  hours  of  lonely  musing, 

Such  as  in  evening  silence  come, 
When,  soft  as  birds  their  pinions  closing, 

The  heart's  best  feelings  gather  home. 
Then  in  our  souls  there  seems  to  languish 

A  tender  grief  that  is  not  woe ; 
And  thoughts  that  once  wrung  groans  of  anguish, 

Now  cause  but  some  mild  tears  to  flow. 

And  feelings,  once  as  strong  as  passions, 

Float  softly  back — a  faded  dream ; 
Our  own  sharp  griefs  and  wild  sensations, 

The  tale  of  others'  sufferings  seem. 
Oh !  when  the  heart  is  freshly  bleeding, 

How  longs  it  for  that  time  to  be, 
When,  through  the  mist  of  years  receding, 

Its  woes  but  live  in  reverie ! 

And  it  can  dwell  on  moonlight  glimmer, 

On  evening  shade  and  loneliness ; 
And,  while  the  sky  grows  dim  and  dimmer, 

Feel  no  untold  and  strange  distress — 
Only  a  deeper  impulse  given 

By  lonely  hour  and  darkened  room, 
To  solemn  thoughts  that  soar  to  heaven 

Seeking  a  life  and  world  to  come. 


STANZAS.  313 

STANZAS. 

IF  thou  be  in  a  lonely  place, 

If  one  hour's  calm  be  thine 
As  evening  bends  her  placid  face 

O'er  this  sweet  day's  decline; 
If  all  the  earth  and  all  the  heaven 

Now  look  serene  to  thee, 
As  o'er  them  shuts  the  summer  even, 

One  moment — think  of  me ! 

Pause,  in  the  lane,  returning  home ; 

Tis  dusk,  it  will  be  still: 
Pause  near  the  elm,  a  sacred  gloom 

Its  breezeless  boughs  will  fill. 
Look  at  that  soft  and  golden  light, 

High  in  th'  unclouded  sky ; 
Watch  the  last  bird's  belated  flight, 

As  it  flits  silent  by. 

Hark !  for  a  sound  upon  the  wind, 

A  step,  a  voice,  a  sigh ; 
If  all  be  still,  then  yield  thy  mind, 

Unchecked,  to  memory. 
If  thy  love  were  like  mine,  how  blest 

That  twilight  hour  would  seem, 
When,  back  from  the  regretted  past, 

Returned  our  early  dream ! 

If  thy  love  were  like  mine,  how  wild 

Thy  longings,  even  to  pain, 
For  sunset  soft,  and  moonlight  mild, 

To  bring  that  hour  again ! 
But  oft,  when  in  thine  arms  I  lay, 

I've  seen  thy  dark  eyes  shine, 
And  deeply  felt  their  changeful  ray 

Spoke  other  love  than  mine. 

My  love  is  almost  anguish  now, 

It  beats  so  strong  and  true ; 
'Twere  rapture,  could  I  deem  that  thou 

Such  anguish  ever  knew. 


314  POEMS. 

I  have  been  but  thy  transient  flower, 
Thou  wert  my  god  divine ; 

Till  checked  by  death's  congealing  power, 
This  heart  must  throb  for  thine. 

And  well  my  dying  hour  were  blest, 

If  life's  expiring  breath 
Should  pass,  as  thy  lips  gently  prest 

My  forehead  cold  in  death  ; 
And  sound  my  sleep  would  be,  and  sweet, 

Beneath  the  churchyard  tree, 
If  sometimes  in  thy  heart  should  beat 

One  pulse  still  true  to  me. 


WATCHING  AND  WISHING. 

OH,  would  I  were  the  golden  light 

That  shines  around  thee  now, 
As  slumber  shades  the  spotless  white 

Of  that  unclouded  brow ! 
It  watches  through  each  changeful  dream 

Thy  features'  varied  play ; 
It  meets  thy  waking  eyes'  soft  gleam 

By  dawn — by  op'ning  day. 

Oh,  would  I  were  the  crimson  veil 

Above  thy  couch  of  snow, 
To  dye  that  cheek  so  soft,  so  pale, 

With  my  reflected  glow ! 
Oh,  would  I  were  the  cord  of  gold 

Whose  tassel,  set  with  pearls, 
Just  meets  the  silken  cov'ring's  fold 

And  rests  upon  thy  curls, 


WHEN  THOU  SLEEPEST.  315 

Dishevelled  in  thy  rosy  sleep, 

And  shading  soft  thy  dreams ; 
Across  their  bright  and  raven  sweep 

The  golden  tassel  gleams ! 
I  would  be  anything  for  thee, 

My  love — my  radiant  love — 
A  flower,  a  bird,  for  sympathy, 

A  watchful  star  above. 


WHEN  THOU  SLEEPEST. 

WHEN  thou  sleepest,  lulled  in  night, 

Art  thou  lost  in  vacancy? 
Does  no  silent  inward  light, 

Softly  breaking,  fall  on  thee? 
Does  no  dream  on  quiet  wing 

Float. a  moment  mid  that  ray, 
Touch  some  answering  mental  string, 

Wake  a  note  and  pass  away? 

When  thou  watchest  as  the  hours 

Mute  and  blind  are  speeding  on, 
O'er  that  rayless  path,  where  lowers 

Muffled  midnight,  black  and  lone ; 
Comes  there  nothing  hovering  near, 

Thought  or  half  reality, 
Whispering  marvels  in  thine  ear, 

Every  word  a  mystery, 

Chanting  low  an  ancient  lay, 
Every  plaintive  note  a  spell, 

Clearing  memory's  clouds  away, 

Showing  scenes  thy  heart  loves  well  ? 


316  POEMS. 

Songs  forgot,  in  childhood  sung, 
Airs  in  youth  beloved  and  known, 

Whispered  by  that  airy  tongue, 
Once  again  are  made  thine  own. 

Be  it  dream  in  haunted  sleep, 

Be  it  thought  in  vigil  lone, 
Drink'st  thou  not  a  rapture  deep 

From  the  feeling,  'tis  thine  own? 
All  thine  own ;  thou  needst  not  tell 

What  bright  form  thy  slumber  blest  ;— 
All  thine  own ;  remember  well 

Night  and  shade  were  round  thy  rest. 

Nothing  looked  upon  thy  bed, 

Save  the  lonely  watch-light's  gleam ; 
Not  a  whisper,  not  a  tread, 

Scared  thy  spirit's  glorious  dream. 
Sometimes,  when  the  midnight  gale 

Breathed  a  moan  and  then  was  still, 
Seemed  the  spell  of  thought  to  fail, 

Checked  by  one  ecstatic  thrill ; 

Felt  as  all  external  things, 

Robed  in  moonlight,  smote  thine  eye ; 
Then  thy  spirit's  waiting  wings 

Quivered,  trembled,  spread  to  fly  ; 
Then  th'  aspirer  wildly  swelling 

Looked,  where  mid  transcendency 
Star  to  star  was  mutely  telling 

Heaven's  resolve  and  fate's  decree. 

Oh !  it  longed  for  holier  fire 

Than  this  spark  in  earthly  shrine ; 
Oh !  it  soared,  and  higher,  higher, 

Sought  to  reach  a  home  divine. 
Hopeless  quest !  soon  weak  and  weary 

Flagged  the  pinion,  drooped  the  plume, 
And  again  in  sadness  dreary 

Came  the  baffled  wanderer  home. 


PARTING.  317 

And  again  it  turned  for  soothing 

To  th'  unfinished,  broken  dream ; 
While  the  ruffled  current  smoothing, 

Thought  rolled  on  her  startled  stream. 
I  have  felt  this  cherished  feeling, 

Sweet  and  known  to  none  but  me ; 
Still  I  felt  it  nightly  healing 

Each  dark  day's  despondency. 


PARTING. 

THERE'S  no  use  in  weeping, 

Though  we  are  condemned  to  part : 

There's  such  a  thing  as  keeping 
A  remembrance  in  one's  heart : 

There's  such  a  thing  as  dwelling 

On  the  thought  ourselves  have  nursed, 

And  with  scorn  and  courage  telling 
The  world  to  do  its  worst. 

We'll  not  let  its  follies  grieve  us, 
We'll  just  take  them  as  they  come; 

And  then  every  day  will  leave  us 
A  merry  laugh  for  home. 

When  we've  left  each  friend  and  brother, 
When  we're  parted  wide  and  far, 

We  will  think  of  one  another, 
As  even  better  than  we  are. 

Every  glorious  sight  above  us, 
Every  pleasant  sight  beneath, 

We'll  connect  with  those  that  love  us, 
Whom  we  truly  love  till  death  ! 


318  POEMS. 

In  the  evening,  when  we're  sitting 
By  the  fire,  perchance  alone, 

Then  shall  heart  with  warm  heart  meeting, 
Give  responsive  tone  for  tone. 

We  can  burst  the  bonds  which  chain  us, 
Which  cold  human  hands  have  wrought, 

And  where  none  shall  dare  restrain  us, 
We  can  meet  again  in  thought. 

So  there  is  no  use  in  weeping, 

Bear  a  cheerful  spirit  still ; 
Never  doubt  that  Fate  is  keeping 

Future  good  for  present  ill  1 


APOSTASY. 

THIS  last  denial  of  my  faith, 

Thou,  solemn  priest,  hast  heard ; 
And  though  upon  my  bed  of  death, 

I  call  not  back  a  word. 
Point  not  to  thy  Madonna,  priest, — 

Thy  sightless  saint  of  stone; 
She  cannot  from  this  burning  breast 

Wring  one  repentant  moan. 

Thou  say'st  that  when  a  sinless  child 

I  duly  bent  the  knee, 
And  prayed  to  what  in  marble  smiled 

Cold,  lifeless,  mute,  on  me. 
I  did.     But  listen !     Children  spring 

Full  soon  to  riper  youth ; 
And  for  love's  vow  and  wedlock's  ring, 

I  sold  my  early  truth. 


APOSTASY.  319 

'Twas  not  a  gray,  bare  head,  like  thine, 

Bent  o'er  me,  when  I  said, 
"  That  land  and  God  and  Faith  are  mine, 

For  which  thy  fathers  bled." 
I  see  thee  not,  my  eyes  are  dim ; 

But  well  I  hear  thee  say, 
"  Oh  daughter,  cease  to  think  of  him 

Who  led  thy  soul  astray. 

"  Between  you  lies  both  space  and  time ; 

Let  leagues  and  years  prevail 
To  turn  thee  from  the  path  of  crime, 

Back  to  the  Church's  pale." 
And,  did  I  need  that  thou  shouldst  tell 

What  mighty  barriers  rise 
To  part  me  from  the  dungeon-cell, 

Where  my  loved  Walter  lies  ? 

And,  did  I  need  that  thou  shouldst  taunt 

My  dying  hour  at  last, 
By  bidding  this  worn  spirit  pant 

No  more  for  what  is  past  ? 
Priest — must  I  cease  to  think  of  him  ? 

How  hollow  rings  that  word ! 
Can  time,  can  tears,  can  distance  dim 

The  memory  of  my  lord  ? 

I  said  before,  I  saw  not  thee, 

Because,  an  hour  agone, 
Over  my  eyeballs,  heavily, 

The  lids  fell  down  like  stone. 
But  still  my  spirit's  inward  sight 

Beholds  his  image  beam, 
As  fixed,  as  clear,  as  burning  bright, 

As  some  red  planet's  gleam. 

Talk  not  of  thy  last  sacrament, 

Tell  not  thy  beads  for  me ; 
Both  rite  and  prayer  are  vainly  spent, 

As  dews  upon  the  sea. 


320  POEMS. 

Speak  not  one  word  of  heaven  above, 

Rave  not  of  hell's  alarms ; 
Give  me  but  back  my  Walter's  love, 

Restore  me  to  his  arms! 

Then  will  the  bliss  of  heaven  be  won ; 

Then  will  hell  shrink  away, 
As  I  have  seen  night's  terrors  shun 

The  conquering  steps  of  day. 
'Tis  my  religion  thus  to  love, 

My  creed  thus  fixed  to  be ; 
Not  death  shall  shake,  nor  priestcraft  break, 

My  rock-like  constancy! 

Now  go ;  for  at  the  door  there  waits 

Another  stranger  guest ; 
He  calls — I  come — my  pulse  scarce  beats, 

My  heart  fails  in  my  breast. 
Again  that  voice — how  far  away, 

How  dreary  sounds  that  tone ! 
And  I,  methinks,  am  gone  astray 

In  trackless  wastes  and  lone. 

I  fain  would  rest  a  little  while ; 

Where  can  I  find  a  stay, 
Till  dawn  upon  the  hills  shall  smile, 

And  show  some  trodden  way? 
"  I  come !  I  come !"  in  haste  she  said ; 

"  'Twas  Walter's  voice  I  heard !" 
Then  up  she  sprang — but  fell  back,  dead, 

His  name  her  latest  word. 


WINTER  STORES. 

WE  take  from  life  one  little  share, 
And  say  that  this  shall  be 

A  space  redeemed  from  toil  and  care, 
From  tears  and  sadness  free. 


WINTER  STORES.  321 

And,  haply,  Death  unstrings  his  bow, 

And  Sorrow  stands  apart, 
And  for  a  little  while  we  know 

The  sunshine  of  the  heart 

Existence  seems  a  summer  eve, 

Warm,  soft,  and  full  of  peace ; 
Our  free,  unfettered  feelings  give 

The  soul  its  full  release. 

A  moment,  then,  it  takes  the  power 

To  call  up  thoughts  that  throw 
Around  that  charmed  and  hallowed  hour 

This  life's  divinest  glow. 

But  Time,  though  viewlessly  it  flies, 

And  slowly  will  not  stay ; 
Alike,  through  clear  and  clouded  skies, 

It  cleaves  its  silent  way. 

Alike  the  bitter  cup  of  grief, 

Alike  the  draught  of  bliss, 
Its  progress  leaves  but  moment  brief 

For  baffled  lips  to  kiss. 

The  sparkling  draught  is  dried  away, 

The  hour  of  rest  is  gone, 
And  urgent  voices  round  us  say, 

"  Ho,  lingerer,  hasten  on !" 

And  has  the  soul,  then,  only  gained, 

From  this  brief  time  of  ease, 
A  moment's  rest,  when  overstrained, 

One  hurried  glimpse  of  peace  ? 

No ;  while  the  sun  shone  kindly  o'er  us, 
And  flowers  bloomed  round  our  feet, — 

While  many  a  bud  of  joy  before  us 

Unclosed  its  petals  sweet, — 
21 


322  POEMS. 

An  unseen  work  within  was  plying ; 

Like  honey-seeking  bee, 
From  flower  to  flower,  unwearied,  flying, 

Labored  one  faculty, —  . 

Thoughtful  for  winter's  future  sorrow, 

Its  gloom  and  scarcity ; 
Prescient  to-day  of  want  to-morrow, 

Toiled  quiet  Memory. 

'Tis  she  that  from  each  transient  pleasure 

Extracts  a  lasting  good ; 
'Tis  she  that  finds,  in  summer,  treasure 

To  serve  for  winter's  food. 

And  when  Youth's  summer  day  is  vanished, 
And  Age  brings  Winter's  stress, 

Her  stores,  with  hoarded  sweets  replenished, 
Life's  evening  hours  will  bless. 


THE  MISSIONARY. 

PLOUGH,  vessel,  plough  the  British  main, 
Seek  the  free  ocean's  wider  plain ; 
Leave  English  scenes  and  English  skies, 
Unbind,  dissever  English  ties ; 
Bear  me  to  climes  remote  and  strange, 
Where  altered  life,  fast-following  change, 
Hot  action,  never-ceasing  toil, 
Shall  stir,  turn,  dig,  the  spirit's  soil ; 
Fresh  roots  shall  plant,  fresh  seed  shall  sow, 
Till  a  new  garden  there  shall  grow, 
Cleared  of  the  weeds  that  fill  it  now, — 
Mere  human  love,  mere  selfish  yearning, 

Which,  cherished,  would  arrest  me  yet. 
I  grasp  the  plough,  there's  no  returning, 

Let  me,  then,  struggle  to  forget. 


THE  MISSIONARY.  323 

But  England's  shores  are  yet  in  view, 
And  England's  skies  of  tender  blue 
Are  arched  above  her  guardian  sea. 
I  cannot  yet  Remembrance  flee ; 
I  must,  again,  then  firmly  face 
That  task  of  anguish  to  retrace. 
Wedded  to  home — I  home  forsake ; 
Fearful  of  change — I  changes  make ; 
Too  fond  of  ease — I  plunge  in  toil ; 
Lover  of  calm — I  seek  turmoil : 
Nature  and  hostile  Destiny 

Stir  in  my  heart  a  conflict  wild ; 
And  long  and  fierce  the  war  will  be 

Ere  duty  both  has  reconciled. 

What  other  tie  yet  holds  me  fast 

To  the  divorced,  abandoned  past? 

Smouldering,  on  my  heart's  altar  lies 

The  fire  of  some  great  sacrifice, 

Not  yet  half  quenched.     The  sacred  steel 

But  lately  struck  my  carnal  will, 

My  life-long  hope,  first  joy  and  last, 

What  I  loved  well,  and  clung  to  fast ; 

What  I  wished  wildly  to  retain, 

What  I  renounced  with  soul-felt  pain ; 

What — when  I  saw  it,  axe-struck,  perish — 

Left  me  no  joy  on  earth  to  cherish  ; 

A  man  bereft — yet  sternly  now 

I  do  confirm  that  Jephtha  vow : 

Shall  I  retract,  or  fear,  or  flee? 

Did  Christ,  when  rose  the  fatal  tree 

Before  him,  on  Mount  Calvary  ? 

'Twas  a  long  fight,  hard  fought,  but  won, 

And  what  I  did  was  justly  done. 

Yet,  Helen !  from  thy  love  I  turned, 
When  my  heart  most  for  thy  heart  burned ; 
I  dared  thy  tears,  I  dared  thy  scorn — 
Easier  the  death-pang  had  been  borne. 


324  POEMS. 

Helen,  thou  might'st  not  go  with  me, 
I  could  not — dared  not  stay  for  thee ! 
I  heard,  afar,  in  bonds' complain 
The  savage  from  beyond  the  main ; 
And  that  wild  sound  rose  o'er  the  cry 
Wrung  out  by  passion's  agony ; 
And  even  when,  with  the  bitterest  tear 

I  ever  shed,  mine  eyes  were  dim, 
Still,  with  the  spirit's  vision  clear, 

I  saw  hell's  empire,  vast  and  grim, 
Spread  on  each  Indian  river's  shore, 
Each  realm  of  Asia  covering  o'er. 
There,  the  weak',  trampled  by  the  strong, 

Live  but  to  suffer — hopeless  die ; 
There  pagan-priests,  whose  creed  is  Wrong, 

Extortion,  Lust,  and  Cruelty, 
Crush  our  lost  race — and  brimming  fill 
The  bitter  cup  of  human  ill ; 
And  I — who  have  the  healing  creed, 

The  faith  benign  of  Mary's  Son, 
Shall  I  behold  my  brother's  need, 

And,  selfishly,  to  aid  him  shun  ? 
I — who  upon  my  mother's  knees, 

In  childhood,  read  Christ's  written  word, 
Received  His  legacy  of  peace, 

His  holy  rule  of  action  heard ; 
I — in  whose  heart  the  sacred  sense 

Of  Jesus'  love  was  early  felt ; 
Of  his  pure,  full  benevolence, 

His  pitying  tenderness  for  guilt ; 
His  shepherd  care  for  wandering  sheep, 

For  all  weak,  sorrowing,  trembling  things, 
His  mercy  vast,  His  passion  deep 

Of  anguish  for  man's  sufferings  ; 
I — schooled  from  childhood  in  such  lore — 

Dared  I  draw  back  or  hesitate, 
When  called  to  heal  the  sickness  sore 

Of  those  far  off  and  desolate  ? 


THE  MISSIONARY.  325 

Dark,  in  the  realm  and  shades  of  Death, 

Nations,  and  tribes,  and  empires  lie, 
But  even  to  them  the  light  of  Faith 

Is  breaking  on  their  sombre  sky : 
And  be  it  mine  to  bid  them  raise 

Their  drooped  heads  to  the  kindling  scene, 
And  know  and  hail  the  sunrise  blaze 

Which  heralds  Christ,  the  Nazarene. 
I  know  how  hell  the  veil  will  spread 

Over  their  brows  and  filmy  eyes, 
And  earthward  crush  the  lifted  head 

That  would  look  up  and  seek  the  skies ; 
I  know  what  war  the  fiend  will  wage 

Against  that  soldier  of  the  Cross 
Who  comes  to  dare  his  demon  rage, 

And  work  his  kingdom  shame  and  loss. 
Yes,  hard  and  terrible  the  toil 
Of  him  who  steps  on  foreign  soil, 
Resolved  to  plant  the  gospel  vine, 
Where  tyrants  rule  and  slaves  repine ; 
Eager  to  lift  Religion's  light 
Where  thickest  shades  of  mental  night 
Screen  the  false  god  and  fiendish  rite ; 
Reckless  that  missionary  blood, 
Shed  in  wild  wilderness  and  wood, 
Has  left  upon  the  unblest  air, 
The  man's  deep  moan — the  martyr's  prayer. 
I  know  my  lot — I  only  ask 
Power  to  fulfill  the  glorious  task  ; 
Willing  the  spirit,  may  the  flesh 
Strength  for  the  day  receive  afresh. 
May  burning  sun  or  deadly  wind 
Prevail  not  o'er  an  earnest  mind ; 
May  torments  strange  or  direst  death 
Nor  trample  truth,  nor  baffle  faith. 
Though  such  blood-drops  should  fall  from  me 
As  fell  in  old  Gethsemane, 
Welcome  the  anguish,  so  it  gave 
More  strength  to  work — more  skill  to  save. 


326  POEMS. 

And,  oh  !  if  brief  must  be  my  time, 

If  hostile  hand  or  fatal  clime 

Cut  short  my  course — still  o'er  my  grave, 

Lord,  may  thy  harvest  whitening  wave. 

So  I  the  culture  may  begin, 

Let  others  thrust  the  sickle  in ; 

If  but  the  seed  will  faster  grow, 

May  my  blood  water  what  I  sow ! 

What !  have  I  ever  trembling  stood, 
And  feared  to  give  to  God  that  blood  ? 
What !  has  the  coward  love  of  life 
Made  me  shrink  from  the  righteous  strife  ? 
Have  human  passions,  human  fears, 
Severed  me  from  those  pioneers 
Whose  task  is  to  march  first,  and  trace 
Paths  for  the  progress  of  our  race  ? 
It  has  been  so  ;  but  grant  me,  Lord, 
Now  to  stand  steadfast  by  Thy  word ! 
Protected  by  salvation's  helm, 

Shielded  by  faith,  with  truth  begirt, 
To  smile  when  trials  seek  to  whelm, 

And  stand  mid  testing  fires  unhurt ! 
Hurling  hell's  strongest  bulwarks  down, 

Even  when  the  last  pang  thrills  my  breast, 
When  death  bestows  the  martyr's  crown, 

And  calls  me  into  Jesus'  rest. 
Then  for  my  ultimate  reward — 
Then  for  the  world-rejoicing  word — 
The  voice  from  Father,  Spirit,  Son : 
"  Servant  of  God,  well  hast  thou  done !" 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


LD- 


IN  3  -  1966 

^£1?  1$  190§ 


y-4 


PM 

-  10 


Form  L9-Series  444 


A     000  070  299     3 


